Memories
The Ferris wheel. Such a fond memory of my youth. And also a reminder how those times can never be again. I see in the facet of my mind two girls and an older boy, laughing, playing, and enjoying the carnival. I remember falling on the ground.
"Lily! Mark! Wait for me!"
"C'mon, Dottie. You take forever. We want to ride the Ferris wheel!"
I climbed back up. They were already way ahead of me. This wasn't abnormal. They often did things without me. I love my brother and sister but they had a world of their own and I was not apart of it.
I ran after them but again I fell. I decided not to yeall for them as they probably wouldn't listen anyway. I started to pull myself up.
"Let me help." I look up to see a boy, near my age with his hand held out for me. He had the blondest hair I had ever seen. His emerald green eyes were so captivating. If I wasn't 7 and still believed girls were better than boys, I probably would've fallen in love on the spot.
"Thank you" I took his hand and pulled myself up.
"My name's Eddie. What's yours?"
I shuffled. I was very shy. Mark took care of speaking for me normally. It was different for me to be put on the spot.
"I'm Dottie." I said it quietly.
"Dottie is a nice name. Do you want ride the Ferris Wheel with me? I don't have anyone to ride with me."
I nodded. He beamed. "Let's go Dottie!" We ran in the direction of Lily and Mark.
The years went by and Eddie and I became close friends. We fell in love and at 18, we got married. He became a farmer, like his father. In one accident with a tractor, he was gone.
I haven't been to the carnival in years, but I guess it'll always be our place, whether or not he's here.
Summer lost
Your sweat sticky sweet
like sugar dew in the air
The flowers that bloom for spring
Can’t even be compared
My fair lady your Beauty is wild
My fair lady your Beauty is un-tame
My fair lady I’d give this point.
This time.
This life.
My mind insane!
All this just.
For your fair name.
My lady my love
Even after death your Beauty I seek from above
My lady my love.
New Meaning
The words summer carnival,
Have a new meaning to me.
It marks the end of something,
A change in my life.
This year a specific party,
Has the theme of,
A summer carnival.
Ends are too much for me,
Everything in life,
Is very hard for me.
I feel horrible,
For I am to plan for,
This summer carnival.
But I sit back and,
Watch the others,
And try to help.
There is nothing,
I feel like I can do,
And so much,
That others can.
I will do anything they ask,
I will help if they need me,
But they do not.
My job is important,
But there is more to this,
Than the money.
His eyes shone like blue diamonds.
His smile curved like a waning cresent moon.
His hands were worked by the labor of ten something years.
The carniaval man, charming as he was, his long days went unnoticed by carnival goers who ignored his call.
I had passed several times until I felt compelled to wander to his booth.
It was, however, not the games that had caught my interest nor the laughs he’d evoked from children who passed.
It was him. The carnival man was intriguing.
I wanted to know more.
He and I, though, our paths were not meant to cross.
Next year Carnival Man.
Candy Apple
The carnival had come again; lights and music interrupting the quiet nights that often settle over the small town in South Mississippi. ONly a few people were privy - the spirits didn't like many of the town's inhabitants and didn't want them to ruin the festival nights.
I have always been visited and liked by spirits, and I've always been quietly proud of that fact; even if I didn't brag about it. Bragging would chase them away, and they were better friends than the living. This year, I am one of the only living people. I'm still special to them.
I buy a candy apple, a rare treat, and cheerfully set to work on the bright red, sugary coating as I make my way to the carousel. I sit by a girl about my age - a spirit I recognize, but have never actually talked to. She looks at me with oddly opaque obsidian eyes that contrast starkly with her transparent white skin.
"Your face is bruised," She remarks. "I bet it's from someone in your family; a lot of girls our age deal with it."
Something grows cold in me as the ride begins to slowly spin, the lights growing a little dull and the music slower - more warped. I twist my candy apple stick between my pale fingers.
"Sorry. I guess that was private."
"Did kind of ruin the mood," I mutter with a small huff. "I only come here to get away from all that, you know."
"I've heard other spirits talking about you. How they always want to tell you stuff and be around you. I think you were meant to be one of us."
"Probably," I shrug, lightly gnawing one part of my snack. "My mom was an alcoholic. Killed my twin and almost me too. Screaming about how we were changelings."
"Spirits like troubled souls."
"So do readers, given all the books centered around them," I remark dryly. "You'd be hard pressed to find a good book that isn't centered around some kind of tortured past..." I trail off as I notice the lights are brighter, music faster (even if it's quieter), and that we're spinning more quickly.
"Do you even want to go back?" She asks. I'm starting to get concerned about the lights blurring and fading into white - everything's starting to fade to white. But...Despite how my heart is racing and my head is throbbing, her question is appealing. Spirits often try to entice the living to their graves - no doubt she's trying it with me. But the question is still valid. Do I want to go back?
I look back down at the candy apple in my hands, bright red as the world dissolves into whites and grays. I was in such a good mood. But this spirit wants me to go to a dark place. I mean, it's nothing new - lingering spirits are, by nature, dark entities and a stark contrast to the bright carnivals they cherish so dearly once a year. Because they tell me things, I've always felt obligated to return the favor, and venting helped me cope with the foster homes and fits of anger.
"Well?" She prompts, arching an eyebrow as I look at her.
"You want me to say 'no', so that I can die."
She giggles and it's surprisingly cute. "You're smart. But I can tell you're still contemplating it."
"What if I tell you I do want to go back?" I ask as the carousel slows to a dead stop. But I already know the answer. The lack of color, the weightlessness. The small glimmer of relief as my heart doesn't beat and my head doesn't heart.
"Well, I'd say the razor would dictate that it's too late for that," She replies airily. "Same thing happened to me, you know?"
I nod, watching the bloody color of my candy apple ooze from slashes. Now I remember. This carnival was never actually real - just a lovely dream of mine. "Can...can I ever go to the carnival again?" I ask.
"I do all the time," She assures me. "After all, now that we're ghosts, we do have a quota to meet."
"What kind of quota would that be?"
She simply smirks at me, interlocking her fingers with mine as we stand and I let the now colorless candy apple roll to the stark white floor. "You'll see."
Carnival
My People call it Junkanoo Carnival
Here on this beautiful island
there is no need for directions.
Amidst the scorching sun
Your "yellow brick road" is the loud soca music
with hints of african ancestry, along with
Their costumes
A kaleidoscope of bright colors
Proud pinks and fiery feroscious reds scream for your eyes to see
The glitter and beads shine brighter than the Sun.
Who are these people that disrupt the traffic?
We call them:
The Celebrators of Culture
The Party Goers
The True Island People
People scream, shout and sing
Car horns blare into the night sky.
A symphony of noises is orchestrated by the enigma.
It is here that you can
Shake the way you want
Sing the way you want to
Shout what you want to
You can be you.
The only rule for this carnival
is to have fun.