by Jake Leary
Atop a Ferris wheel a child sat weeping. He was young, but old enough to understand—his father was dead. Tossed from the rides highest point to meet an inevitable demise. The boy knew his father had completed the fall the moment the screams began. His father’s body was like a stone dropped into an unmoving pond. From the point of impact ripples and waves erupted, disrupting the water’s placid stillness. From those waves came smaller waves, until eventually the whole pond was mess of moving water. Such was the body of his father, colliding with the ground, and upon impact sending a ripple of terror through a crowd of smiling, cotton candy eating, and game playing families.
The small cart with the child began to descend bringing the young crying boy closer to a life of orphanages, and psychiatric assistance. Soon the small swinging doors would unlock and ride operators would peer in to find a sobbing child, and a tall masked man. A man whose hands were soaked in the blood of the child’s father. A man whose mask had strayed from his face in the struggle revealing a face the boy would never forget.
The car thudded to a stop. There was a sound like a hissing animal, and the small doors popped open. Immediately the man ran, clutching the mask to his face, pushing the aside the men who stood by the doors like guards. It was several moments before they realized and began to chase him, but by that point it was far too late. By that point the man had dematerialized into the night, leaving behind the innocent, lonely, young child who sat in horrified shock alone on a Ferris wheel.
The dried leaves crunched under his feat like thousands of brittle bones. The wind was sharp as it blew across his face, burning him with its frozen cruelty. All around him music was softly trumpeted, as masses explored the carnival. Hundreds of voices merged together with the music and harsh metallic sounds of machines into an indistinguishable jumble. Not only did the sound create an assault on the senses, but the entire fair was festooned with lights of all different colors and intensities. Some flashed obnoxiously, while others only faintly emitted a pale multicolored light.
The orphaned boy, now a damaged man walked through the festivities, his mind instantly transported back in time to another carnival where lights shone as brightly and music and people were combined into one joyous experience. He passed by clowns and games, and felt compelled to pull money from his wallet and play silly board walk games, almost compelled to wander the grounds and enjoy the festival. He almost wished to forget his original purpose, but even the smallest part of him knew he couldn’t. This was goal, this is what he had waited to accomplish for years. It was what no perspective parent, psychiatrist, or doctor could understand. It was simple, unoriginal; revenge.
At first, in the days and weeks after the death of his father he was forgiving. The orphan was at an age where anger was not a permanent condition, only a temporary inconvenience. As he aged this changed, all the doctors told him this was normal, but eventually acceptance was simplest form of coping. But the more he aged the more difficult accepting his father’s death became. Soon the orphan was hunting the murderer. Describing the man to every seedy street rat, and information hunter he could find. This was the state of his life for years. It was desperate. It was childish. It was necessary.
Several weeks ago, someone found the man, and after deep internal conflict, he bought a gun, and began to drive to the Midwestern town in which the murderer lived. All throughout the road trip he toyed with the idea of killing the man. Whenever the thought made its way like a parasite into his brain he felt excited, then scared, and disgusted. It was a consistent, and spontaneous cycle, but the time to make up his mind was over. He was already at the fair, already tailing the man, with nothing but foul intentions in his heart.
The orphan had lost himself in his mental fantasies, and in the process lost sight of the murderer. For several moments he desperately searched the vicinity for his target. All the while his breathing was rapidly increasing, his heart fit to burst from his chest and lay cold and shriveled on the ground before him. The entire scene began to blur. I can’t lose him here. I can’t. His mind shook with the thought. Can’t lose him, no no no no no no. He forced his way through the crowd, shoving people, to their displeasure, at of his way. It was nearly five minutes until he was reunited with his prey. Unfortunately this unveiled a new wrinkle in his plan. The Murderer was not alone, he was with his son.
Slowly the orphan approached the murderer and his child. Continuing his slow approach, waiting for them to choose a ride where he could make his move. They passed the corn maze, the carrousel, and the rollercoasters. The two seemed set on a specific location. Soon the father and son arrived at a ride and found themselves a place in line, quickly the orphan positioned himself behind them, hoping he would be forced to share the same cart, and as he did so, he pulled his hood over his head. The line slowly shuffled forward, and all the while he had no idea which ride he was about to embark upon. His eyes were fixed firmly on his feet, his hands trembling faintly. Finally he looked up, and to his horror found before him the several story Ferris wheel towering before him.
He was prepared to walk away, to never return, and leave the man and his son alone. No, think, have you come this far to walk away. We should’ve foreseen you cowardice; should’ve known you would give up. The orphan stayed in line. He even dared look up at the hulking metallic structure that stood directly in front of him. The lights on its sides flashed making dizzying patterns. The music persistently chirped merrily from speakers aligned all around the ride. If anything the cheery decorations only increased the anxiety the orphan was feeling.
“Ticket sir,” grumbled a severe looking carnival employee. For several seconds he stood stock still, barely conscious. “Sir, if you don’t have ticket I’m gonna ask you to leave,” The woman began tapping her foot against the wood planks she stood on. Her eyes glistening with malicious joy. She seemed as though she waited day and night to eject someone. The orphan could relate to the bitterness, he respected it.
“Sorry, ma’am,” muttered the orphan as he passed over a wrinkled pink ticket. The moment after her approval, he was ushered forward by another employee into the ride car in which the murderer and his child sat.
As the ride began to ascend his mind raced with voices, some insisted he murder the man, others begging for peace. Sweat began to dampen his jacket, and drop from his brow. Silently he unzipped his coat, reaching his hand inside for the weapon. Carefully he drew the revolver out, revealing a sleek shiny barrel and leather grip. He squeezed the handle for comfort.
The eyes of the man across from him widened as he understood. Time felt as though it moved at a crawl as the murderer reached forward desperately trying to loose the gun from the orphans grasp. The wheel stopped. The orphan fought for the weapon. The murderer grabbed it, tossing it over the edge. The two wrestled, the seated child whimpering with a mixture of fear and confusion. The car was beginning to shake uncontrollably, swaying back and forth at dangerous speeds and angles. Amidst the commotion the orphan’s hood was shaken from him, exposing his face to both man and child. Almost instantaneously recognition crossed the father’s face. For a second he stood stock still in shock, and seizing the moment the orphan grabbed the murderer and shoved him over the ledge.
The body fell slowly, his large form colliding with thick spokes of the giant wheel. Each moment of contact followed by an echoing smack, and a sharp crack. He didn’t know if he actually heard the sounds, but he wished it enough for it reverberate around him. From the top of the ride, nearly fifty above the ground, the orphan could hear the heavy thump as the father smashed into the ground. In that moment roles were transferred, murderer became victim, orphan became murderer, and child became orphan. The murderer smiled as the bile rose in his throat.
Atop a Ferris wheel a child sat weeping.
