Many years ago, when I was just starting out in 3D, I had this series called "The Littles": essentially fast-fiction, under 500 words, in which ordinary people are put in extraordinary situations. This one, the Littlest Trapeze Artist, was one of the first. So now I'm revisiting some of them with new illustrations, just for the heck of it. There might be a collection at some point, but who knows. Anyway, each had its accompanying text, so, without further ado... The Littlest Trapeze Artist. ___________________________________________ I've been flying since I was six. My uncle and aunt were the company stars when I started to learn this, and they taught me well: I was doing triple flips before I was ten, and there's not many in the business that can claim that. And every night since I was six, maybe seven, I've been up here. At first, I was decoration: "Ooo! Look at the cute little kid!" Then my aunt pretty well shoved me into the spotlight with my first jump and catch. The audience went nuts. I was a star. And I loved it. I've never been to school, y'know? I can read, a little, and write enough to cash my paycheques. But I dont know much else. Never needed to, really. It's not like you have to worry about political science when you're on the trapeze. All you need to know is how to get from here to there without breaking your neck. So that's what I do -- and I do it damn well. Yeah, afterwards, when we're all just sitting around, I'll hear folks talking about this or that, and I wont have a clue what they're talking about. No big deal, actually. The world just keeps turning without my help, so I guess no one will notice if I dont understand why we're sending troops here or flying aid there. But up here, when I'm in the tower, everyone notices. Everyone. So this is where I give them what they want: thrills, excitement, the defying of death. All I have to do is reach out and grab that other bar, and I can hear them gasping in unison because they thought I might not make it, that I might miss and fall. Sure, normally there's a net. Not tonight. Tonight I plan on giving them the thrill of their lives, something they'll tell their grandchildren about: a quadruple spin, without a net. It's kind of the Grail in our business, something everyone aspires to. My uncle tried. He didnt make it. Afterwards, my aunt left the business, and I carried on on my own, working it up till I got the sense of how the spin was supposed to work. And tonight... Well, tonight, sure, I'll be like everyone else in the business. I'll try the quad without a net. And I'll fail. And people here watching, the folks who have their eyes on me, will talk about that for years. That's entertainment.