I do not own American Horror Story: Freak Show.

But it's my new dark fascination.

Just People

He'd tried, he really had.

Tried to let them see. See that they were just like them.

People.

And what was the one thing all people needed?

Food, right?

Everybody eats food.

They should eat food.

He and his friends.

Out.

Like normal people.

In a diner.

Plus, he was hungry.

Hungry for something not cooked in a field tent.

And hungry for change.

So he'd scrounged together some precious coins.

Coins they couldn't afford to waste on silly frivolities such as diner food.

And went to them one by one.

They'd each had pretty much the same initial reaction.

What? Oh, um, no, I, uh, couldn't. Lots of, uh, work to do around here. Plus, you know, well, um, I . . .

And he understood, he really did.

Easier. It was easier to hide away. Stay safe in the freakshow.

They accepted each other there, as much as they could.

It was easy.

But was it right? Right to have to hide away? Hide like they were ashamed of themselves? Like there was something wrong with them?

No, it wasn't. They shouldn't have to hide.

They were good people. Interesting. Funny, some of them. Clever. Some were even smart, you could see that.

If you only looked, you could see.

They were just . . . people.

And they, they had been scared.

Scared at the notion of going out and eating a simple meal.

Ridiculous, wasn't it?

It was just food, for god sakes.

But the truth was, he had been scared too.

Terrified.

Gut clenched, sick and churning.

Deformed hands trembling, head pounding.

Knowing the food wouldn't taste good.

Knowing it would stick in his mouth like glue, like mud.

Knowing it would be miserable.

Knowing every single thing his friends did and said would make him anxious, nervous.

But still, he'd believed he could handle, maintain the chaos. He'd wanted to try.

He'd wanted them, all of them, to have a chance.

Just to be people.

Not normal. Not freaks.

Just . . . people.

And so he'd pushed through it, their fear, their hesitation.

Used one of his many, many talents.

Chosen his marks carefully. Knowing who had the guts, the stupidity, or the desperation to try.

Known who wouldn't stand a chance.

Meep, for example.

Nope, never gonna happen. Sorry, man.

Even Jimmy felt sick, felt horror whenever Meep did his thing.

So, he hadn't gone to him.

But the others, the ones who did stand a chance, no matter how slim.

He'd gone and he'd done his thing.

After all, he was a charmer, an enticer.

He was not to be denied.

He'd wheedled, he'd cajoled.

Turned on his smile, his dimple, his wink.

Oh come on. It won't be so bad. It's a nice diner. Everybody's got to eat, right? I do it all the time.

Which wasn't exactly true. He did it sometimes.

Well, yeah, Jimmy, but you've got those gloves . . .

Nope, not this time. No gloves. No hiding. Just us. All together. Just going to a diner to eat. Everybody's got to eat, right?

Well . . . yeah . . .

So . . . what's your favorite thing to eat? Come on, your favorite thing that you never get here? The food you dream about?

Mmm, real, fresh salad. Nice and cold with some dressing on the side, maybe . . .

Oh honey, I haven't had Salisbury steak in so long . . .

Burgers! With real cheese and fries . . .

Meatloaf!

And he'd watched their eyes light up with tentative excitement.

Okay, then, let's do it!

He hadn't asked his mom. She was too caught up under Elsa's thumb and would probably rat them out or cause more of a problem.

But maybe, just maybe when they were successful and things were better, he'd take her to a movie.

She could sit safe in the dark and watch something happy (maybe one of those Disney things would make her smile, really smile) and eat popcorn and let go of all her grimness and concerns and sadnesses for a while.

He'd smiled a little himself at the possibilities for her.

For them.

For us.

For me.

It wouldn't be easy, he'd known that all along.

But maybe, just maybe, they could do it.

And he'd tried.

He tried so hard.

To guide them. To be a role model. A leader.

Gathered them up, talked to them nicely beforehand.

Okay, we want them to see us as just people. So be . . .

Normal?

Nah. Just be you. A calm, polite you.

And they had.

His friends.

He coulda cried at how hard they tried.

All washed up in clean clothes.

Polite smiles.

Using utensils.

Attempting to negotiate around napkins.

Saying their pleases and thank yous.

He'd never been prouder of their efforts.

Much different than the roiling orgies (which were a pleasure in their own right, he wasn't going to lie) and the raving supper party he'd stormed out of days before.

His friends, his people.

They'd tried so hard.

The waitresses, the manager, the 'normal' people of the bar.

They were the awful ones.

Openly staring at Jimmy and his friends in disgust. Speaking so hatefully in their short, clipped tones.

What kind of morons are you people? We'd never be so rude to our rubes, uh, guests.

But Jimmy'd stubbornly turned a blind eye to all of it and smiled through locked teeth.

He was going to make . . . it . . . work.

He could handle the cold hate searing his flesh, making his heart turn into a choking rock in his throat.

He, Jimmy the Lobster Boy, could do it.

He'd been doing it all his life.

And his friends, they had been great.

Well, mostly.

Until it started to unravel and he couldn't stop it no matter how many smiles he offered up, how many light reassurances he'd offered the 'good' people of the diner, how many winks he'd tossed out.

Paul, ever resourceful and who knew what it meant to truly go hungry, saw no point in wasting perfectly good food. Didn't realize it wasn't good manners to take what was going to be thrown out anyway.

Pepper, slowly coming unhinged with unbridled excitement over meatloaf.

And Dell, good old, bastard Dell.

The most 'normal' looking one of them all.

Causing the most ruckus and disturbance. Storming into the diner and acting like a crazy man, scaring everybody.

Dragging Jimmy out and giving him a beating right in the middle of the street.

Would it have really been too much to ask for him to just ignore them and walk away?

Or better yet, using his normal-looking appearance and demeanor to come in and help smooth down the rising tide of crazy that had been sweeping over them?

Did he really have to make things worse, call more attention to their freakdom, shame Jimmy, give him a miserable shiner for his efforts at acceptance?

Apparently he did.

And now he, they, were back to being misunderstood, rejected, freaks.

When all he wanted was to be seen as a person.

Jimmy Darling sighed, took a deep breath, and tried to ignore the pounding in his bruised face.

And went back to sweeping the tent floor.

Yay, I can write again! *blows trumpet, dances happy jig*

Ahem, okay, where was I? Oh yeah . . .

The real and true horror of this season (up to episode 2 anyway) is the way the 'normal' people act. And of course that freaky clown, and the stabbing orgy, and Jessica Lange's desperation. But my point is, the 'normal' people are the real freaks so far, man.

But I'm a relative noob here in AHS world (my first season and I'm hooked like a fish), so be gentle, yeah? Goodness knows the writers of the show won't be. I've figured that one out already. ;)

I added a little 'cause it came to me. But the1upguy was right (thanks, by the way, man, you rock!); it did used to be 1,242. But I can never leave well enough alone. *sheepish shrug

Anyway, everybody appreciates feedback. Leave a review if you like.