merry go round

Every day I sit opposite the merry-go-round; the Wheel of a hundred delicate hearts and grins that could stretch to the moon and back. There is insecure gripping of plastic horse and parental hands alike; a playful childishness behind every stick of candyfloss or ice-cream.

The Go-Karts are just off to my right; the gladiatorial arena where immature character is finally allowed independence: tight grimaces on round faces as prepubescent red mist finally descends. Human nature emerges as instinct allows the most aggressive to prevail; evolution on the Go-Karts: survival of the fittest.

 Off to my left is the rollercoaster. Those with deep voices and breasts scream as their adrenaline races. By the gate stand the lonely fearful, looking upon the fearless in passive envy. Sunlight catches their watches as they spin. Inexperienced photographers at the Merry-Go-Round accidentally flash their cameras, catching forever the beaming smile of their loved ones in over-exposed beauty.

Toffee, candyfloss and warm donuts waft by in the air.

I love people. I could watch all day and bask in their happiness, soaking it all up like the last leaves of a dying tree. The emptiness of my soul is fulfilled; it’s like a drug: I feast on it, I crave it.

The child sits in the living room, crouched on his knees, in front of the fire. His one-armed Batman figure is battling off waves upon waves of small plastic figurines meant to resemble second World War soldiers. The scene is the idyllic depiction of childhood. The door slams and the drunken roar of a beast rattles the child’s very bones. The game stops. Kicking the figures into the fire, the monster slaps the child around the head. Collapsed, the boy watches Batman burn.

Older now and on a brand new bike; shining, red and glossy the boy mounts, proudly. Across the drive comes the ghoul. Wrestling the bike from the child’s hands he confiscates it, selling it on to buy alcohol. The boy runs and cries, huddling under an old tree and grasping an unused bicycle chain.

With battered clothes he faces hell at school. Fourteen times beaten, three times in the toilet and twice mugged. He becomes distant, introverted and cruel. He begins to burn and mutilate insects in his room by candlelight. He reads. He plans. He prepares himself.

Six and a half years later, after a three year prescription to the theme parks annual pass, he sits alone at a café overlooking the idle happiness. There are M4 Carbines assembled and concealed under the table, compiled after endless months of smuggling individual parts. He has been planning this for an age. His coffee is cold and his sandwich, stale.

I take the last tepid sip of coffee and rest my palms on the table. Sweat trickles down my brow and past my lips; I can taste the salt. Goosebumps appear on my arms and my back tingles from anticipation. Cold chills run up my spine. Shaking, I cry silently into my sandwich.

Reaching down I run a cautious finger along the barrel of the gun and feel it’s power. I shudder violently as the next eager group mount the Merry-Go-Round. I pull it from its’ catch and place it on the table. The world is oblivious; opposite, a small child imitates the firing of a gun. His parents pay him no attention.

Slowly I slide a magazine into the back of the weapon. With shaking hands, I c**k it. Time slows; it becomes a blur, a beautiful blur. The chilling sounds of happiness fuelling the growing fire of hatred and jealously in my heart.

Closing my eyes, I rest the gun upon my lap and repent. I mentally spit the words:

“God, forgive me, for I shall sin”.

Raising the gun I hold my breath and gently caress the trigger. I can’t tell if the screams are of horror or of joy…who would be able to tell? Horror and joy go hand in hand. The world erupts into a shower of panic; distressed and horrified stares fall upon me. Confusion in the eyes of the young as their handlers huddle them close to their chests. People run and scream and fall. They scream, but what’s the difference? It’s realistic adrenaline, that’s all it is.

Across the path a child stares; poorly clothed and dirty, he stands by the gate to the Merry-Go-Round. He’s waiting in line by himself. His father is nowhere to be seen. He doesn’t cry, only stares in absent understanding; an ignorant understanding. In his left hand, clutched tight with love, is a one armed Batman figure.

In that moment I knew it was meant to be; a wave of emotion crashed over me and I wash up on the shores of reality. Unbelievable anger rips open my soul and the gun slips from my fingers as my heart explodes. There is silence as the Merry-Go-Round grinds to a halt. An entire park brought to a standstill by my own fickle desires; such power a single man can have if only you hand him the right tools. But I wasn’t alone. I was never alone.

Looking back as cold steel was clasped around my wrists and I was bundled slowly into the back of a police van, the boy had disappeared. But he had been there. He had always been there. He was me. I said nothing. I didn’t try to defend my sanity. Silent tears just stained my face, but they were tears of joy. I wasn’t alone.

“Has anyone tried the candyfloss here?” I mutter.

Silence.

“It’s lovely”.

Reviews

[Francine Harris]

That was beautifully written. I could feel his pain through the small yet important glimpses you've presented in this story. The ending was so unique yet, for me, spoke of the nostalgia and abundance of bitterness his childhood possessed. I know I'm going on a rant here but I liked it:)

[Harry Alston]

Thank you very much, there's nothing better than someone going on a rant about your writing, very, very appreciated :)

[Francine Harris]

No problem:p i'm glad you're alright with it and I assure you, I wasn't intentionally trying to sound smart I swear xD my thoughts on your story just came out that way

[Harry Alston]

Haha, I thought you were just that smart, it was very articulately put, don't worry about it ;)

[Francine Harris]

Why thank you;)

[b.platte]

You write wonderful descriptions. Not only do I have a clear picture of what is going on but I see everything through the speaker's eyes. The way you described the kids on the merry-go-round... amazing. This is beautiful.

And we really get to know the character in such a short time. Great work.

[Harry Alston]

Thank you very, very much, It's appreciated, I'm glad you enjoyed it :)

[afra]

great story ....i enjoyed it ...beautiful write ...well done

[Harry Alston]

Thank you very, very much :)

[Kymberley Dawn]

i loved it (:

[Harry Alston]

Thank you, glad you enjoyed it :)

[Flower Meadow]

This piece reminds me of one I've read in school but I don't fully know what. It's slightly chilling, but understandable of why he did what he did. It kinda makes me scared to go to amusement parks ever again. I like it. Very well written indeed.

[Harry Alston]

Thank you, if you ever remember what the piece is you read, I'd love to read it myself :)