House of Clowns
JOKER
They called it the House of Clowns, but it felt more like a prison to me. A place where people were forced into roles they never chose, a refuge for outcasts with nowhere else to go. It was made for the amusement of others, but never for the happiness of those trapped inside. Slowly, it was draining me—stripping away not just my joy, but the core of who I once was. If I could remember anything from before this place, maybe I’d hold onto it. But all I know now is this—a life of smeared colors, an endless performance for an invisible audience.
They say what doesn’t break you makes you stronger. But that’s a lie. It doesn’t build you up; it wears you down, piece by piece until all that’s left is the mask you wear.
Pages
- Page 1
- Page 2
- Page 3
- Page 4
- Page 5
- Page 6
- Page 7
- Page 8
- Page 9
- Page 10
- Page 11
- Page 12
- Page 13
- Page 14
- Page 15
- Page 16
- Page 17
- Page 18
- Page 19
- Page 20
- Page 21
- Page 22
- Page 23
- Page 24
- Page 25
- Page 26
- Page 27
- Page 28
- Page 29
- Page 30
- Page 31
- Page 32
- Page 33
- Page 34
- Page 35
- Page 36
- Page 37
- Page 38
- Page 39
- Page 40