For a comic.
The carnival; a place I prefer not to return.
Whether it was the rides or the polluted ambience caused by the rides that made me hate it so, I know not. But I am very much assured that I shall never return.
I believe it was an evening where my parents and I went to my aunt's for supper, then did my mother make the suggestion to go to the fair. It was expected that a good many people would decide on the same thing and end up in the carnival in crowds on the morrow. My aunt was despondent to go, and so my mother assured her that we would go just about then.
My aunt brought along two maids, one of my cousins from another aunt of mine, and the child of hers adopted only two springs ago. It was quite unfortunate for my aunt to not be able to bear children of her own. She had thought adopting would do well to sate her longing for a child. However, my aunt's belief on blood is thicker than water had a greater effect on her than anyone in my family expected, and any true affection she had for her daughter slowly drifted into indifference. I, for one, was very fond of her daughter, although it was questionable for the other party.
When we arrived, I thought we wouldn't be able to ride, for it looked deserted and very, very inoperative. My father asked one of the people who had come out of the carnival, and they said it did function, and there were as many rides as there would be on the morrow. Excitedly, my mother ordered all to go out of the carriage.
I was not very delighted with the entrance or its fee, but my younger brother, my cousin and the adopted child of my aunt were allowed to go in without pay, and my mother was satisfied.
The lights were blinding, and there was rarely any color around one might think they were trapped in a psychological horror story. Looking around, I had the audacity to judge it inwardly—that it was dirtier than a boy's dormitory bathroom.
Perhaps it certainly was the ambience that entreated me to come here no longer, for every time a ride concluded, the engines released a good amount of smoke enough to make the entire fair pale in the thickened, polluted air.
Or was it truly the rides? With the conductors having little to no sense of respectability, I should suppose that my aunt was rather offended. They saw themselves as businessmen of the difficult aspect of the world, and they suspect rank to be crudely unfair. I couldn't agree more, and yet they were crudely barbaric in ways that repulsed me.
Or perhaps it must have been my prejudice to public places; so many opportunities to mingle—perhaps I was afraid of it. No, I was not afraid, I merely thought it was unnecessary.
I thought the rides would have paled my dislike, but contrariwise to that expectation, the rides were what made me feel more shameful with anything I've ever done.
I felt dozens of stares pierce through me as the carousel went 'round. I blushed, cursing myself for my imprudence. I would have been the eldest to try it. It was most shameful for my part, and until this very day I wish I had never set foot upon the carnival grounds.
My adieu was by no means polite—I had been the first back inside the curricle. My mother scolded my rudeness, and I payed no mind to it.
Do not let my prejudice change your opinion of the carnival, dear reader. You may still enjoy it. I am merely being expressive with my thoughts on it.
And, the next time you go, perhaps you might want to try the ferris wheel—it is more enjoyable than any other ride.
