Situatuon: Ignores all signs
Story 1 - Marissa McNeese
As a street mime it can be hard to get money these days because these kids are always on their phones, walking with their ipods in their ears. They don’t have time or energy to care about what is going on in the real world. But that is all going to change because I the best mime will rewire the minds of little children. Where is a good place I can do this change to the minds of these kids? I know...the downtown fountain. The fact that I am even considering this is nearly a death mission. I’ll need a weapon. That’s it...a machete! I’ll use that to fight off the monsters. Mother called. She always doubted my dreams, and when I told her I wanted to be a mime, she lost hope in me. That doesn’t matter anymore...I’m going to make a change! Later that day I went into the city to change the minds of people, but it didn’t work. I posted it all over my Instagram and Snapchat or whatever these young folks do these days, but nobody looked at it. I wonder why? This was my calling… I think? Well none of that matters anymore; I got arrested for pointing my weapon at children. Once I get out I will make a change!
Story 2 - Alli Palmatier
I walk down to the pavement to the dandelion-shaped fountain where I put on my daily show for whoever decides to watch. The thing that makes my performances different than most other mimes is that mine are adaptable. Every audience member’s experience is unique because they provide the props and story-line. Due to an unfortunate incident a few weeks ago, I now have to put up a sign that says “NO WEAPONS MAY BE USED AS PROPS.” My mind drifts off to the memory of that day.
The day started like the rest of them, but the audience was familiar. They were here yesterday, but today they were prepared. I stay perfectly still, waiting for one of them to step forward and hand me their props. A girl around the age of 12 walks up to me and hands me a bag filled with tan clothing. It’s a safari outfit with a matching hat, and in the bottom lies a machete. I sadly handed the bag back to the girl because I’m not allowed to handle weapons during my performances. Her face immediately fell from smiling to an upset scowl. The girl then turns and run backs to her mother and whispers in her ear. The mother looks up at me with a deadly glare and shakes her head in disappointment.
I will never forget the feeling of utter failure because I disappointed my audience. The image of the mother’s glare still burns in my mind. It seems dumb, but I figured I’d just put up a sign so I won’t disappoint anyone.
Story 3 - Cora McGrail
I am a mime, a pretty dumb one at that. My usual act includes standing in the center of Times Square, just by myself. This time I decided to include props to make my performance a little more spicy and enjoyable to watch. My uncle had offered to give me some of his props a while back, but they looked a little too realistic and violent for my taste. After he got sentenced to prison, his house was taken over by my second cousin’s nephew, and he got rid of all of the props as soon as he moved in; not sure why though...they looked pretty cool. The box of weapons sat in the back alley for months, so I assumed they were still there. I was kind of right; there was a single machete laying propped against the brick. I picked it up slowly, ignoring the way it gleamed in the sunlight. I got a few stares and a few people gaping at me as I passed. They were so jealous. I began to notice the red paint speckled on the blade and the fact that it felt a lot heavier than usual plastic props. I suddenly felt a liquid pooling around my legs and spraying on my head and looked up to see I was standing in the center of a decently sized fountain. Right now would probably be a good idea to mention that I am a deaf mime, but that’s not that important; it doesn’t affect my day-to-day life. Suddenly I feel a strong hand push me to the ground and a stinging pain in my left thigh. The clear water turns red as I realize the machete has sliced my leg, and I fall. Soon after that, I feel someone shaking my shoulders. I turn my head from the pinkish-red water and see a man with a blue hat, black glasses, and a large bushy mustache that had some sort of crumbs in it. A police officer. His mouth moves like he’s talking, but I can’t hear him for obvious reasons. His partner comes over and probably gets the hint that I can’t hear, so he starts signing badly. Through broken sign language, I figure out that I am being arrested for carrying a weapon used in a murder, so they must think I helped with it. The realization hits me that I was ignoring all the signs, the heaviness, the shine and the “paint.” Most importantly, the fact it had literally sliced my leg open. They shove me into the car without helping my leg. I guess I won’t be miming anymore.
Story 4 - Olivia Gibbons
Today I was doing my daily performance at the fountain. Every day thousands of people walked past me, but today was not my lucky day. This day I decided to include a random stranger in my act. How was I supposed to know he was a dangerous serial killer on the run from the Russian police? I thought he was a painter! He had red all over him so I assumed he was painting with red! He also had a knife, so then I thought he was a sculptor! So I started my performance with my machete, like you do. I couldn’t say anything! I was stuck! But then he stopped and we actually had a good show until the police showed up and arrested him. I am currently writing this log in my diary while waiting for the police to question me. Good thing I cant talk; the serial killer gave me 3 total dollars before he was put into the police car! I can finally afford food! Life is good. Kinda sad they got John. John was a nice person.
Story 5 - Monica Turntine
*runs to the fountain, but is stopped by the sign in front that reads “no touching”*
*takes machete and cuts down sign*
*walks into fountain*
*turns around and sees “policemen”*
*holds out wrists to get cuffed*
*gets into police car*
Story 6 - Caroline Cunningham
Well there was nothing left to do but go forward with my plan. I hoisted up my black and white striped suspenders and charged straight for that fountain.
Perhaps I should back this up a bit. I am a mime, which means I pantomime lots of things. I’ve walked down nonexistent stairs, been trapped in an invisible box, acted like a chicken,and lots of other things that have probably been degrading to my identity as a functioning member of society.
I normally hang out in a park near a courtyard that had a big fountain that looked like a peacock or dandelion. Who knew. It was modern art so it could be “freely interpreted.” I set up my little area every morning in the corner of the courtyard and waited for people to start their day. A lot of people would watch me thoughtfully or amused and then continue on with their day. No one stayed for long. The only friends I had were the pigeons who tried to steal my lunch.
Now I’m not a big bragger, but I never backed down from a challenge which is what got me into this plan in the first place. I was doing my invisible box for the fifth time that day when a nasty little kid walked by me. You know the type: red hair, freckles, probably snot coming from his nose. Well this little bugger shouted across the square, “You suck!” I brushed this aside and continued with my routine. This time he walked over to me and began shouting at me again.
After a considerable amount of insults I turned to him and made an angry face. “I bet you couldn’t act like a chicken,” he said. I did. “I bet you couldn’t walk down invisible stairs,” he said laughing. I did that too. “I bet,” he said crossing his arms in triumph, “that you couldn’t pretend to chop down that fountain.” A look of shock crossed my face. The kid laughed at me again. I turned around, slapped some more white paint on my face, hoisted up my suspenders and walked determinedly over to the fountain. I carefully selected an imaginary machete out of my tool belt. Stiffly, I stepped into the water of the fountain. I heard a man shout behind me, but I kept going all the way to the base of the water spout. The trickles from above made my white paint run and my clothes stick to me.
I sung my machete back and was about to swing down on the fountain when someone caught my hand. I looked back to see a police officer snapping a pair of handcuffs on my wrist. He said something about destruction of property. As he dragged me out of the fountain and across the square I saw that nasty brat again. He was rolling on the ground and clutching his sides with laughter. I guess I didn’t see that he was trying to egg me onto something stupid. I’ll have a lot of time to think about my next act in prison!
Story 7 - Megan Koch
"Events of Peacock Fountain"
I am a mime. Miming by the Peacock Fountain in the center of town, hoping to earn enough tips to support my hidden family. A man holding a machete slowly approaches me. I make a show of sliding away. He comes after me again. I start to panic. I bend over, thinking to myself: Be graceful;, don’t fall. I lift my hat into my hands, turn, and run. Footsteps pound behind me, and I run faster, faster. Faster. I glance over my shoulder and he’s gone. Then I run into the first door I see. I push my back against the door so he can’t follow me. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. Opening my eyes, I make the first sound I had in years and scream. There he is. The Machete Man. I sink to the ground, realizing where I am. I’m on the floor of a church, where people are in the middle of a ceremony. The last thing I see is the surprised face of the woman at the podium.
Story 8 - Kassidy Kessler
I gasp as I emerge from the fountain. People stand all around, flashing weird glances my way. I don’t pay attention, though. Instead, I jump out of the water and begin miming a fish. I swim towards a man in the crowd, and he gives me a look of disgust. I ignore him, though,and begin my swim towards another guy.
He shoots me the same look, and growls, “back off Mackerel Mime…” Once again, I brush it off, then start miming a fisherman, reeling in a big catch.
“Please, leave me alone!” He tries to walk away, but I stop him. I place the imaginary fish in his arms and smile. He gives me a mocking smile back and pretends to drop it. I frown. I fake crying, putting my fist to the corners of my eyes.
He yells in frustration, “AGH! THATS IT!” He pulls out a machete.
Wow… he must really hate fish mimes…
Story 9 - Cadence Bell
I stand on top of my fountain. People stare at me with worried glances. I ignore them all until they run away. I’m left lonely, except for Mark. Mark the Machete Man. I turn to him, pulling off my rainbow Afro wig, “I think they’re scared of you, Mark the Machete Man.” I jump into the fountain and swim home: “Farewell, Mark the Machete Man.”