It's My Birthday!
A dusty field, empty except for a carousel. Harsh sunlight, bright glares; the day doesn’t love the carousel. Only the night can, with its easy acceptance of all the rejects, killers, lovers, everything and more. But does the carousel belong to the night?
Round and round and round the carousel turns. The same every night, no deviation from established routines. Lights winking coyly at visitors, begging for attention, ignored. Tigers, giraffes, elephants, and zebras dancing to a primal song only they can hear.
The ritualistic beat and spinning movements call to the stars. Whispers of desires, long forgotten by those who fail to embrace the stars, fill the air with tantalizing hints of adoration. They will be heard; they will be seen. They’ve been missing for so long, waiting to be found. The stars are coming for them. Home aches for their return. Their brightly colored harnesses constricting for a short time longer. Slowly their crazed murmurs crescendo to incoherent yells, unheard by disbelievers.
Child, mother, lovers, soon they’ll be gone for the night. Gone to their homes, unaware not everyone has that choice. For some, home is a luxury best forgotten. No one will visit the carousel. Alone. Silent. Such melancholy in the dark. But the silent figures’ anticipation warms them.
Lights searching, painted figures calling out directions. So close to freedom, to a home denied for so long. Silent screams guide the stars to their lost brothers.
Finding the small carousel, the stars release the trapped creatures. Harnesses shed, muscles straining, stretching after extended stillness. Unsure moves, uneasy gaits, they relearn to use their limbs. Elated, they ready themselves to escape this hell. Dancing, not in circles, but moving independently for the first time in a century. Primal screams of delight fill the silence.
A whimper stops the celebration. The animals, the stars, turn to the noise, ready to fight. Nothing shall impede their rescue. A child, a little girl, no more than five, lost, frightened. Blonde curls surround a thin face, green eyes glittering with tears waiting to escape. A pretty pink ribbon tied into a bow in her hair, doing its damnedest to stay cheerful; something has to for this child.
Abandoned by uncaring adults, she watched the carousel for days, the dancing animals enchanting her, loving her. She never got to ride the carousel, but she didn’t have to. The mutual love overwhelmed her. But now they’re leaving. And they didn’t know they were supposed to love her. Her simple child’s delusion shattered, unloved again. Abandonment inevitable, the girl’s intuition tells her, a cycle she’s doomed to live in, never allowed the opportunity to escape. Trapped always. Tears race down her cheeks, aching to hit the ground. Love does not exist for this girl. She understands now as the sad pink ribbon is whipped from her hair by a sudden wind.
The stars hate tears. They must be dealt with, along with the child. The little girl isn’t at the carousel anymore. Neither are the animals. Just a circling structure remains, falling apart with no magic to keep it together, a pink ribbon tied in a bow on a pole. No one visits, no one wonders where the animals escaped to, or how a ribbon wound up wrapped around a pole. The little girl is never searched for, too invisible to merit worry, too unloved to inspire desperation in others. The stars have never shined so bright.
Round and round and round the carousel turns. The same every night, no deviation from established routines. Lights winking coyly at visitors, begging for attention, ignored. Tigers, giraffes, elephants, and zebras dancing to a primal song only they can hear.
The ritualistic beat and spinning movements call to the stars. Whispers of desires, long forgotten by those who fail to embrace the stars, fill the air with tantalizing hints of adoration. They will be heard; they will be seen. They’ve been missing for so long, waiting to be found. The stars are coming for them. Home aches for their return. Their brightly colored harnesses constricting for a short time longer. Slowly their crazed murmurs crescendo to incoherent yells, unheard by disbelievers.
Child, mother, lovers, soon they’ll be gone for the night. Gone to their homes, unaware not everyone has that choice. For some, home is a luxury best forgotten. No one will visit the carousel. Alone. Silent. Such melancholy in the dark. But the silent figures’ anticipation warms them.
Lights searching, painted figures calling out directions. So close to freedom, to a home denied for so long. Silent screams guide the stars to their lost brothers.
Finding the small carousel, the stars release the trapped creatures. Harnesses shed, muscles straining, stretching after extended stillness. Unsure moves, uneasy gaits, they relearn to use their limbs. Elated, they ready themselves to escape this hell. Dancing, not in circles, but moving independently for the first time in a century. Primal screams of delight fill the silence.
A whimper stops the celebration. The animals, the stars, turn to the noise, ready to fight. Nothing shall impede their rescue. A child, a little girl, no more than five, lost, frightened. Blonde curls surround a thin face, green eyes glittering with tears waiting to escape. A pretty pink ribbon tied into a bow in her hair, doing its damnedest to stay cheerful; something has to for this child.
Abandoned by uncaring adults, she watched the carousel for days, the dancing animals enchanting her, loving her. She never got to ride the carousel, but she didn’t have to. The mutual love overwhelmed her. But now they’re leaving. And they didn’t know they were supposed to love her. Her simple child’s delusion shattered, unloved again. Abandonment inevitable, the girl’s intuition tells her, a cycle she’s doomed to live in, never allowed the opportunity to escape. Trapped always. Tears race down her cheeks, aching to hit the ground. Love does not exist for this girl. She understands now as the sad pink ribbon is whipped from her hair by a sudden wind.
The stars hate tears. They must be dealt with, along with the child. The little girl isn’t at the carousel anymore. Neither are the animals. Just a circling structure remains, falling apart with no magic to keep it together, a pink ribbon tied in a bow on a pole. No one visits, no one wonders where the animals escaped to, or how a ribbon wound up wrapped around a pole. The little girl is never searched for, too invisible to merit worry, too unloved to inspire desperation in others. The stars have never shined so bright.