The Last Eucalyptus Tablet

Etching out a living for himself, the illustrious doctor no longer sat in his director chair, his megaphone faded from years of swearing into it. He was out of lozenges, the ones with the eucalyptus leaves embedded into each pellet, he felt the empty paper in the tube and sat back with amazement as he watched his show come to an end.

The circus would never be the same without him, the dancers wouldnt have the same pluck, no matter where they went, and the owner chewed on his wet cigar and huffed a gigantic sigh of relief.

The giraffes in the back tilted their necks slightly, scooted to the back of the tent, sensing a storm out on the plains.

The doctor lifted up his megaphone one last time, took a large swig of whiskey, used his hankerchief to soak up the sweat from his back, coughed three times, stood up and announced the start of the show for the last time.

On Monday the theatre was closed, a dog-eared flyer telling passers-by of the death of an institution.