Once upon a time, in a small town filled with parks and singing fountains, there lived a clown named Plinky. But Plinky wasn’t just any clown. He wore enormous shoes that looked like inflatable boats, a top hat taller than a wedding cake, and a jacket so bright it could probably be seen from space. His nose, red as a tomato, made a honking sound every time someone touched it.
Plinky was the heart of the circus, "The Traveling Smiles," and for many years, he was the undisputed king of laughter. His act included falling into invisible puddles, juggling cream pies, and, of course, the famous routine where he rode a tricycle so small it seemed like it was made for a mouse with bad eyesight. All the children adored Plinky, and even the grown-ups couldn’t help but laugh, no matter how hard they tried to hide it.
But Plinky had a secret. Despite all the laughter and applause, he felt a knot in his stomach. And it wasn’t the kind of knot that gives you butterflies from excitement, no. It was a sad knot, like when you realize there’s no ice cream left in the freezer or when you run out of crayons just as you’re about to finish the most beautiful drawing in the world. Plinky, the king of laughs, was... sad.
It all started one day, after an especially loud show. The children were chasing him, asking for autographs and wanting to touch his nose. But when Plinky returned to his trailer, he sat on his bed, looked at his reflection in the mirror (which, for some reason, always seemed bigger than necessary), and sighed.
“I don’t understand,” he said aloud, though no one was there to listen. “I make everyone laugh, but... who makes me laugh?”
The trailer stayed quiet, as usual. Well, except for the little mouse who lived in the corner and had chosen that exact moment to nibble on an abandoned cookie.
The next day, Plinky decided that maybe what he needed was to change his routine. "Perhaps if I do something different, something more fun, I’ll find my happiness," he thought. So, he went to the market, where he’d heard about a magician selling chocolate bubbles.
“Chocolate bubbles!” Plinky exclaimed. “That’s exactly what I need to cheer myself up!”
The magician, a thin man with a beard that looked like a poorly drawn map, sold him a bottle of bubbles for an outrageously high price.
“They’re not just chocolate bubbles,” said the magician with a mischievous grin. “They can fly, too!”
Plinky was thrilled. If he could fly inside a chocolate bubble, surely he’d find happiness up there, among the clouds!
When he returned to the circus, he decided to try out his new treasure. He blew hard, and a giant bubble, the size of a baby elephant, appeared in front of him. It sparkled in the sunlight, and inside, he could see the creamy chocolate swirling like a thick river.
“Here I go!” Plinky shouted and jumped into the bubble.
At first, everything was perfect. The bubble lifted into the air, floating above the circus tents. From up there, Plinky could see everything: the colorful tents, the children running around, and the sun starting to set on the horizon. Everything was just right... until the bubble began to melt.
“Oh no,” said Plinky. “Hot chocolate? Seriously?”
The bubble quickly turned into a chocolate soup, and before Plinky could do anything, SPLAT! He fell to the ground, covered from head to toe in melted chocolate.
The children, of course, thought it was part of the show and laughed hysterically.
Plinky, however, wasn’t so happy. Even though he smelled delicious, chocolate in his pants wasn’t as fun as it seemed.
Determined not to give up, Plinky thought that flying in a chocolate bubble might not have been the best idea. So, his next plan was much simpler: flying in a hot air balloon. What could go wrong?
The next day, he showed up at the balloon port with a renewed smile and a giant cheese sandwich in his backpack (because you never know when you’ll get hungry up there).
“I want the biggest balloon you have,” he told the attendant, a stout man with a mustache that seemed to have a life of its own.
They offered him a balloon so large it cast a shadow over half the circus. It had red and yellow stripes, and in the middle, there was a picture of a grumpy-looking duck. Plinky loved it instantly.
He took off smoothly, and this time, everything seemed to go well. The wind brushed against his face, and the sun shone without melting anything. “This is it,” he thought. “This is what I need to be happy!”
But then, something unexpected happened. The balloon started to speak.
“Hey, clown,” said the balloon in an irritated tone. “Do you even know what you’re doing?”
Plinky almost fell out of the basket.
“Y-you can talk?” he stammered, clinging to the edge.
“Of course I can talk. I’m a magic balloon. But I’m not here for small talk. Do you know how hard it is to carry a giant clown like you?”
Plinky, offended, looked down. Okay, maybe he had eaten a few too many cream pies lately, but was it really necessary for a balloon to remind him of that?
“Well, it’s my first balloon ride,” he said shyly. “I just want... to be happy.”
The balloon sighed.
“Buddy, happiness isn’t up in the skies. Why don’t you look inside yourself instead of searching outside?”
Plinky had no idea what that meant, but before he could ask, a strong gust of wind shook them, and the balloon began to descend rapidly.
They ended up landing in a lake, and while this time there wasn’t any melted chocolate, getting soaked wasn’t exactly what Plinky had planned.
Days went by, and Plinky began to lose hope. He had tried everything to find his happiness: chocolate bubbles, talking balloons, he even tried juggling inflatable animals, but nothing worked.
Until one day, while sitting by an airstrip near the circus, he saw something that changed everything. A plane roared overhead, taking off with a grace he didn’t expect from such a big machine.
“That’s it!” Plinky shouted, jumping to his feet. “I need to fly, but in an airplane!”
That very afternoon, Plinky enrolled in a flight school. Everyone thought it was crazy: a clown with a honking nose, flying a plane. But Plinky wasn’t discouraged. He bought a pair of enormous aviator goggles and a helmet that matched his colorful jacket, and he began his training.
The first day was a disaster. He tried juggling with the controls (literally), and the instructor, a serious man with an even more serious mustache, nearly fainted.
But over time, Plinky improved. He discovered that when he was in the air, the audience’s laughter, the cream pies, and the ridiculously tiny tricycles didn’t matter. The wind in his face, the sun shining on the airplane’s wings, and the soft clouds gliding underneath him... that was what made him happy.
Finally, the day came when Plinky got his pilot’s license. He was no longer the sad clown who made others laugh but couldn’t laugh himself. Now, he was a flying clown, a pilot with a honking nose and a heart full of happiness.
In the end, Plinky learned that he didn’t need to be the king of laughter to be happy. What truly mattered was following his heart, even if it meant flying beyond the clouds.
And of course, he still wore his top hat and colorful jacket. Because, after all, a clown never stops being a clown, even up in the sky.