Clowning Around

Imagine: you’re in a stairwell, it’s dim, empty, grey. You would use the elevator, if it was more reliable, but you have places to be. So you descend the concrete steps for a while when you hear something. Eerie whistling echoing throughout the stairwell. You can’t tell where it’s coming from. Above you or below? Nevermind, you try to ignore it and carry on, down, down, down. Then you come upon them, fellow users of the stairs. You realize one of them is responsible for the whistling.Except there’s something off. Many things are off. A quick glance would have told you the source of the whistling and nothing more. But you steal more than a quick glance and now you can’t help but keep your gaze on them as your eyes catch on each thing wrong about your neighbours. 
Their eyes are the wrong color, unnatural. And with the whistler, the irises are too big, they cover too much of the whites. All three have unsettling smiles, as though drawn on, but in such a way that you can’t tell if they’re happy or sad. Especially with their brows, seemingly paralyzed in an upturned shape. Their makeup, their clothes, all are made up of happy, bright colors. But the setting, the dingy stairs, the grey walls, the echo-y whistling drains the life from the rainbow collected before you. 
Yes, something is very wrong. It may be a saturday, the start of the weekend where stairwell traffic wouldn’t be much of a surprise. Nor would three individuals decked out in bright clothing and makeup. And it’s October, ‘tis the spooky season. But it’s only the twenty-fifth, not halloween and the halloween festivities would be on the coming friday night and saturday after. Not on an afternoon a week in advance. So why, in your descent of the almost empty stairwell, are you now face to face with three clowns? Why did the whistling suddenly stop? And why did they start staring like that…at you…in unison?

You can shriek in fear now. It’s okay, they understand.

No, but like, straight up, could you imagine?! That would be freaky as hell. Luckily, when we were in my stairwell, decked out in clowncore glory, there was no one to hear my companion whistling. As far as we know. There was definitely no one who came upon us though whilst we took strange, unhinged photos. Were that to occur, it would be a simple explanation, but whomst knows if it would be simply understood. The Princess Party was odd enough to explain, let alone the Clown Party. 
I forgot to come up with a theme when my birthday came round, but we had something planned for the friend who came next. So naturally, we went about town, the mall, and Boston Pizza as a quartet of clowns. We got questioned. We got glances. We got weird ass photos in the dark of my unlit apartment. And we got cupcakes and pie. Themed parties are really one of the greatest things we remembered we could do. And honestly, clowncore is a vibe, a fun one. It’s hard to be casual about it, but we would all definitely be down for another random clown day. It’s the spice of life, looking like a fool, and we go about it like Olympic champions. 
You may have been lucky not to run into us, with wildly painted faces, in the stairwell of my murder building, but I can’t guarantee you won’t stumble upon our strangeness in the future. You may very well see the artificial eyes, red noses, and bright colors coming towards you and whomst knows what might happen next?