When I was about 4 years old, I went to the circus for the first time. The ringmaster wheeled out an enormous cage with a gorilla in it. The gorilla roared and beat it's chest and shook the bars of the cage. When the ringmaster turned his back on the cage to tell us all how fierce and dangerous this particular gorilla was, the gorilla shook the cage furiously and broke open the door. He bounded off the stage and into the stands, roaring and howling. Further and further he came, closer to where I was. I wanted to leave, tugging on the adults' hands, pleading to go. But they wouldn't move. Closer and closer the danger came. I burst into tears and shrieked. The child-eating monster came right in front of me, reached up its hands - and ripped its own head off!!
That's a cruel joke to play on a small child. I'm sure the man in the gorilla suit thought that by proving he wasn't a real gorilla, I would be comforted. But for many years, I was haunted by nightmares of gorillas pulling their heads off.
This is watercolor pencils in Aquabee journal.