Slides

It was a dark and muddy night, with the moon hanging low over the horizon, a dull haze coming from the weak light of the carnival's overhead system. My mother and I were riding a small, slow moving train system that was designed to take you around the park, let you see what was available and easily get on and off to try the rides. We made our way around the spinning tea cups and found a massive array of slides and, deciding to try them, ascended the tower to the entrances.

There was a man there dressed all in white, his smile perfect except for the missing tooth in the back left. I remember the look in his eyes as he greeted us, though I don't remember the words he spoke. But he was enticing us forward. It was more than just being an attendant. He wanted us to ride down the slide. Was very insistent that we should. So we did.

The slide was longer than I thought it was. Longer than it should have been. Mom had gone first, and I could just barely see over her shoulder as we slid deeper and deeper down. Like a premonition, I saw what we were heading towards.

Saws. Guillotines. Hammers. Designed to crush, flatten, chop and shred us into pieces. I remembered in the vague extents of my memory hearing something about the confetti at this particular carnival practically being alive. It very abruptly made sense why that was.

I desperately tried to claw my way back up, but I was began to ascend, I realized that my mother was not so lucky. I dove back down for her, but I could see that it was too late. The first hammer was falling down...

I woke up in a cold sweat, screaming for my mom. It was a hot night, and a small and worthless fan was blowing from the hallway into the bedroom. My head was where my feet usually were. I looked over and saw my mom, sleeping peacefully, somehow unawoken by my screams.

It took a long time to get back to sleep with my heart pounding as hard as it was.

I dreamed of returning to the carnival, knowing the truth. Of being unable to convince anyone. Of seeing my uncle already cut into fun size bits and pieces, and despite that him speaking to me, telling me how fun it was to become confetti, and how I should join him.

I woke again to find myself curled into a ball.

I dreamed of running through the carnival, trying to stop people from going down the slides, screaming desperately to tell them of the danger. But no one listened. They wanted to be torn apart, mashed down, become little more than bits of paper to be thrown into the wind.

My head was agonizing when I woke. But it was still the dead of the night.

I dreamed of having escaped. Of having arrived in a hotel far, far away, where I could be at peace. But as I was relaxing, I received a call. My father was diagnosed with cancer. There was only one thing that could be done for him. It wasn't a treatment. It was a punishment. The slides.

I dreamed too many times that night. It was very difficult for a very long time after that to even look at a slide, much less slide down it.