Counting Steps

S T R A N G E R

    Maybe you know the drill. You wait in line at the fairground, the sun blazing on your skin. You just want to get up in the air, feel the purposeful wind guide its way through your hair (if you have any.)

You hand one of the few expensive tickets you have to the person controlling the ride. You're reluctant but the ride is worth it, right?

You find a seat. It's hard with so many people grabbing for one. They're almost full. You finally find one and buckle in.

Then the ride starts.

You lurch forward and your stomach fills with anticipation. The ride you'd been waiting for is finally starting. You're actually on it.

It starts off slow but you're ready for what comes next. Atleast you thought you were. The machine picks up speed. You start to feel the wind on your face and your clothes start to blow around your body.

You close your eyes.

You don't want it to stop.

Go faster

Go faster

Go faster

But you're not the one who controls the machine. You don't get a say in how fast the ride goes. You can't tell it when to stop unless you're puking your guts out and they need to listen.

How far would you go? To stop the ride. To control it. I mean, you spent your money on those tickets, you fought through the crowds of people pushing past you. Away from you. Into you.

So why can't you tell the ride to stop? To go faster?

Why can't you control the ride?