Fun.

Done for a short story assignment at school. I apologize for the length; I usually prefer writing longer things where the drama isn't as cramped. Enjoy.

“Let’s go into the funhouse.”

            Adam was hesitant toward Maria’s casual suggestion. “You want us,” he jabbed a thumb to his chest, “to go in there?” The black-haired boy looked at the dingy wooden building as if it were the gates to Dracula’s castle.

            Maria regarded him with mild curiosity. She replied lazily, “Yeah, why not? I like the mirrors.” Her tone of voice and countenance remained calm and seemingly uninterested, as it never failed to be. Adam opened his mouth to spill some worried reply, but was interrupted by the hulking form of Peter brushing past him and into the conversation.

            “Who wants cotton candy?” Peter inquired through a mouthful of the blue-raspberry cloud he held. Maria took a wad of the sugary teal tumbleweed into her mouth. “Adam is being a baby and doesn’t want to go into the funhouse.” She turned back to her dark-eyed friend and raised an eyebrow slightly, lips pursed either in distaste or because of the cotton candy melting on her tongue.

            Peter’s small blue eyes narrowed. “Dude. We didn’t come to the carnival just to stand around and look at the rides.”

            “I know!” Adam groaned. “But I really do not want to go in there. Clowns and fake apparitions and stuff just don’t sit right with me. This place radiates bad vibes into my Asian Intuition.” His voice grew low and his fingers fluttered to exaggerate his magic.

            Maria scoffed. “You know that doesn’t exist. And you’re only, like, one-third Asian so it wouldn’t count, anyway.” She swallowed the thick syrupy residue of Peter’s treat and continued. “Besides, clowns don’t kill you; that stuff is for horror movies in some black circus. We’re at a dinky kiddie carnival in the middle of town.”

            Adam wiped the coating of sweat from the back of his neck, which would no doubt reappear soon in the heat of a summer night. “I don’t care. Clowns give me the creeps, it smells like the gym locker room in there, and there are, like, a million other things we could do instead of going into the funhouse!”

            The tall, mousy-brown haired boy devoured the rest of his colorful confection in one bite. “Adam, being afraid of clowns is for four-year-olds. You should have grown out of that phase and slapped on some big-boy pants years ago. Now come on; we’re going into that funhouse, no matter what your childish fears or ethnical intuitions say.” Peter promptly snatched the wrists of his two companions and dragged them through the bead-string entrance. Maria smiled a bit and Adam gulped.

            The funhouse interior reflected what the whole carnival seemed to look like: many flashing lights conflicting with the black sky. Odors of sweat and greasy foods mingled unpleasantly in the air. Synthetic yellow smoke that smelled cloyingly sweet hovered above one’s feet, until they could not tell whether they were looking through the veil of smoke or they simply had dusty shoes. It was musty, dark, and overly sequined as if to make up for the poor quality, much like a rusty convertible with diamond-inlaid dice jingling from the mirror.

            The trio went separate ways upon entering with not but a whimper from Adam. Maria made a beeline for the distortion mirrors, cell phone already out to capture a picture of her funky forms. Try as she might to get a snapshot of her with a hunchback or one bulging eye on a triangular head, she would only get the flash of her camera reflecting on the mirror. Shrugging and not finding anything better to do before Peter and Adam returned, Maria took this as an opportunity to check her image. The teen peered into one of the less horribly scratched mirrors. Smudged mascara was wiped, thick creases of eye shadow blended, and frizzy blonde hair was almost swept into a bun, until she spotted movement. A figure appeared in the corner of her mirror.