The carousel beckoned with gaudy fingers of lacquered gold, and the old man loomed.
“£1 a ride.” His voice was ashes.
He pocketed the proffered coin and motioned towards the steps. Tentative, I looked up, and in the old man’s glassy eyes lived the reflected tortured mouths of his painted horses in their circular open cage.
Suddenly infinitesimal, suddenly horrified, I froze.
“There’s a line,” someone reminded me tartly, and I shrank before them. “Get on or get out of the line.”
The gilded horses laughed.
I ran, and on a tract less muddy, I collapsed to the floor and wept.
This is outstanding. Evocative of Ray Bradbury. Subtle, eloquent, haunting. Well done.
Thank you, Derek – your kind words are much appreciated!
Wonderful imagery. And Derek is right–it does remind me of Bradbury. Nice job, Danni.
Thanks Bobby! Very kind!
Fantastic stuff, love the imagery.
Thanks very much chloboshoka!
Reading this actually made me shiver! Brilliantly conveys unease and trepidation. Love it!