"Hup!" by David Cook

The audience, crammed shoulder to shoulder in tight, neat, curved rows, stared upwards, mouths agape like stunned goldfish, semi-chewed popcorn clogging up the crevices between their teeth. They were captivated by the two acrobats a hundred feet in the air. They defied gravity, flinging themselves and each other around on perilously high trapezes attached by gossamer-thin wires to the roof of the big top. A safety net would break their fall if a trick were to go wrong, but collectively the crowd ignored its presence to avoid detracting from the thrill.

The trapezists, Freya and Federico, were an item. A couple of years of hurling themselves at each other, wrapping their arms and legs sinuously around each other, trusting one another with each other’s bodies, had eventually led to them sharing first a kiss, then a bed. Freya had dared to believe afterwards that Federico might be the one. Now they shared a trailer, travelling from town to town together, their own little moveable hideaway among the other  circus performers.

Freya leapt back to her starting pedestal and pirouetted to face back out towards the void. ‘Hup!’ shouted Federico – trapeze artist terminology for ‘go’– from across the void. She flipped herself from her pedestal to her trapeze, swung 360 degrees once, twice, three times, then used her momentum to rocket herself forwards and upwards, flying freely, serenely, oblivious to the unknowable faces that stared up at her. Then she began to fall, arms above her head, certain to plummet to the ground – until she was snatched from the air at the last moment by Federico, who dangled from his bar by his feet. The audience oohed and ahhed in appreciation. Federico winked at her from above. The only thing preventing Freya from falling was his powerful hand around her slender wrist.

The protective warmth of his grip sent Freya’s mind flying back to a few days earlier, when she’d spotted Federico emerge from the trailer belonging to Leanora the lion tamer, his hand in hers, before scuttling away in the direction of the trailer the two acrobats shared. She’d confronted him later. She’d expected denials, excuses. Instead, he’d just shrugged. ‘I never promised exclusivity,’ he’d said.

‘Freya.’ Her name coming from his mouth returned her sharply to the present, just in time for Federico to blow her a kiss and say ‘See you in the trailer later’. It wasn’t a question, it was a statement. Freya hated him for it, but his arrogance had always been part of the attraction, and she hated herself too for that. She shimmied up Federico’s body, trying not to enjoy the feel of his contours beneath her fingertips, hopped from his shoulders onto his trapeze, then leapt over to her own.

Hup!’ yelled Freya, fists clenched and fingernails tearing into her palms. Her voice echoed loudly around the arena. ‘Hup!’

Federico knew Freya well. He knew she’d be hurt. He knew she’d be angry. So it came as no shock to him, as he double somersaulted towards her, that she adjusted her outstretched hand at the last second in just such a way that it looked to the audience as if he’d messed up and mistimed his jump – the sort of amateur error that could destroy the ego of most showfolk, particularly a proud, preening man like Federico. As he hurtled like a brick towards the safety net, Freya knew Federico would have expected something like this. Indeed, as he vanished into the distance below, she half fancied he winked at her again.

Something else that can destroy someone’s ego, showfolk or not, is their partner cheating on them, and that can tip anger over the edge into revenge. Federico knew Freya well, yes, but he didn’t know just how vengeful she could be. He also didn’t know that she’d begun an affair of her own just the night before — with Roy, one of the circus’ safety technicians. Silly, sweet, stupid Roy. He’d been mad about Freya for as long as she could remember, always saying how he’d do anything for her. But Federico didn’t know that either. 

And, as Federico slammed straight through the sabotaged net and onto the solid ground below, Freya reflected that now he never would.

David Cook’s stories have been published in Ellipsis Zine, Janus Literary, the National Flash Fiction Anthology and many others. He’s a Pushcart Prize and Best of the Net nominee. He lives in Bridgend, Wales, with his wife and daughter. Say hi on Twitter @davidcook100 and Instagram @davidcook1001.