I wrote this while bleeding out of the foot…so…eh.

~

The carousel stands guard over the tangled vegetation. Twisting vines and pink flowers curl around the base, watching me closely as I approach.

When my fingers brush the yellow paint of the horse’s flowing mane, it flakes off in a shower of gold dust.

A girl once sat upon that horse, her legs clinging to slender ribs. “Faster, faster!” she would shriek. Her head flew back as the man pushing the carousel obeyed.

I am too gawky for the delicate horse. Instead of climbing on, I grab hold and push, and pretend it’s as fun as it used to be.