Carousel

She took herself to the beach for the day. Though, she is not entirely sure why. Seemingly, her recent days are spent searching for something - but she cannot remember what she lost. Walking through the streets with an empty backpack on her hunched shoulders and a plead in her hollow eyes, she sees the way they look at her. A helpless animal on the side of the street. A potentially dangerous person. Unpredictable, a little bit laughable. As she emerges through crowds of pitying strangers with slight smiles in the corners of their curious mouths, she spots a bookstore. While the sky above her head colours gloomy and dim, the store bursts with warm bulbs and welcome. Timidly stepping through the door, she makes her way to the poetry.

It seems nothing can validate the way that she feels. How could it when she does not even know what she feels. It is a heavy emptiness. That does not make sense to her, how could it to anybody else? She takes the first collection of poetry from the shelf, flicking slowly through the delicate pages. Another book off the shelf, flicking through. This one has to be it, she thinks as she takes a different book from the shelf. Please. Please. She just needs one book, one poem, a single sentence, to describe the way she is feeling. Tearing books of the shelf one by one with growing desperation, she feels like she is sinking in the sea. All she needs is something to make sense of her state. Could they make it sound beautiful, too?

Leaving the bookstore with her head hanging and shoulders slumped deeper, she stands motionless by the door - unsure of her next steps. Then, through the fog that fills her head, a choir of voices infiltrate her ears. Lifting her feet towards the symphony, she reaches a tunnel. Darkness emulsifies her at first, then a large cross meets her at the exit. Her legs, now frozen, stand still before the church. Times before, she has found herself standing inside a church - out of respect, obligation. In her mind, as the choirs sing and the preachers speak, she would imagine herself at the doors of heaven. Somebody holds their hand out to her, telling her, this is where you belong, this is what you need. Although she is on her weak knees after having crawled her way to the gate, she cannot simply reach her hand out. Her control corrupts and she is weaping a river that she will soon drown in. This scene rolls through her mind as she stands, not having moved a single breath, in front of the cross. Spectators walk past her, turning back only to gift her an unsupporting glance. Her eyes begin to burn and it ignites a spark in her legs. Running, running, she runs through the tunnel and towards the sea.

Almost crawling now, she drags her weary soles along the pier. Surrounding noises filter in and out of her ears with her eyes firmly on the wooden planks, watching the water swim in between her steps. She stops for one moment, lifting her head slowly with great effort. Turning it briefly from side to side. There are children running and teenagers laughing. Couples hand in hand, families huddled together for warmth. She watches them all, living their answers. How did they find it? What was the question they asked? Her loneliness clouds over her like a storm approaching, her grief making the air thick. Fairground organs grasp her attention amongst this fatal weather. Without hesitation, she grabs her loneliness and her desperation by the hand and walks towards the ticket booth. I just want to ride on the carousel, she pleads to the woman behind the glass screen. Once the woman hands her a concerned look and a ticket, she makes her way towards the horses.

The man collecting tickets hesitantly offers to take her backpack. With gratitude, she accepts and climbs on top of the closest horse. The children and their parents find their seats while she watches the sea swimming back and forth along the pebble shore. She does not quite feel quite alive. As if all of her steps are leading towards nowhere. Words and images drawn in graphite, easily erasable. Interrupting her lack of consciousness, the carousel starts moving. Turning slowly at first, patiently turning. Something turns in her face and a smile peaks around the corner of her mouth. The horses gallop a little faster now and that smile has emerged and made itself comfortable on her face. At full speed now, the horses are dancing, the sea is singing and she cannot help herself but laugh. This influx of joy should send guilt through her blood and tears from her eyes. She should be crying. Why is she not crying? As the ride comes to an end, her smile remains. She fears something in her has broken. That she has lost her sanity completely and is destined to live a life in delusion. Beaming, she retrieves her bag from the man in the booth and thanks him. With her eyes dry and joy bright, she begins to think that something inside of her may have been broken already. It is only now that it has been mended. Now it can beat. Now she can live.