The Swinging Ship

Psychological story about a nostalgic loner who wanders the state fair looking for anyone to talk to. Written when I first turned 16. Please review, good or bad

The Swinging Ship                       Tyler Allen

 

 

 

1. Hanging Baskets 

       Ernest, as a child, would sneak into the county fair. He did it every year, almost every night it was in town, and had never gotten caught. Oh, well… he did once, but luckily, he had talked his way out of it. You see, Ernest always came in through the back; hopping the metal gates and fences through the cattle holding. As he did, he would always catch strange, suspicious glances from the cattle drivers and such, but no protest... except of course from the disturbed livestock; plenty of strained bleats and moo’s and angry snorts.

  Hell, maybe cattle-drivers assumed he had had a small goat, or a pig, somewhere amidst the livestock. Just a kid anxious to check on his potential blue-ribbon winner. Who knew? Regardless, they never said a word, so that wasn’t his worry. What he worried about, was the employee’s break area; which was usually composed of a small dirt clearing with a couple beat up lawn chairs and an old radio, flanked by three large food stands. Once he would reach the small enclosure, he would always check to see if it was empty, making sure nobody was in there on break; smoking a joint or looking at a dirty magazine.

                Well, on the last night of the fair, in the summer of… oh, somewhere around ’96, Ernest had been a bit anxious, if not just plain careless, and had rushed right through the clearing. About half way through, he had skidded to a dead halt, as his eyes fixed on the mangy looking mutt-of-a-guy worker lounging in the old lawn chair, a lit joint between his shaking fingers, his head bobbing deliriously to the Pearl Jam song striving behind the blaring static on that old radio. The same radio… every year.

                “Hey kid,” he had said, dazed… no doubt stoned. “What’re you doin’ here, man?”

                Immediately, an idea formed. A sketchy one, but still better than nothing. He was getting into that fair, d****t!

                “What do you mean ‘kid’? I’m not a kid; I work here, man!”

                “You do? You look a little…young…I mean, I’ve never seen you around” grumbled the long haired pothead, wearing a tie-dye shirt and scraggly blue jeans.

                “Well, I do, and I have to get to the funnel cake stand right now, I’m already late.” He paused, and then said, “And maybe you ought to lay offa that stuff!” He pointed a finger accusingly at the blazing joint in his hand.

                The guy looked around confusedly, then said, “Yeah, I hear you brother. Don’t I know it?”

                And with that, he had stamped right past the hopeless stoner, and triumphantly into the glittering fair. Alone, sure… but who cared? With a twenty dollar bill in his pocket, he was in it to win it; one round on almost every ride (except for the sissy rides that he was, of course, too old for), and then two rounds on the Viking Ship. That was his absolute favorite ride; that ship was. He didn’t know why he was so enthralled by it; it wasn’t even by far the scariest ride in the park! There was just something about it that made it the absolute best.

                Perhaps it was the whole idea; the Viking Ship. When he rode the ship, he was Leif Eriksson, on his way to an infamous raid.

                Or maybe it was the momentum of the ride, how it just built… and built… and built…

                And that hang-time; the moment of suspension when you knew you were in for the drop, the instant of merciless preparation.

                He lived for the Viking Ship, and he lived for the fair. At least he did once a year, when it came around to his county. Even if he always went alone, always by himself… it was still a great time…

 

 

 

*              *              *

 

 

 

                But that was a long time ago, and he was must too old for those childish games now. This year, he would actually pay for his ticket, just like everybody else. Well… most everybody else. The times weren’t what they used to be; lying, cheating and stealing were now acceptable, from what Ernest could tell. He was much older now, and he hadn’t been to the fair in… oh, he had forgotten how many years. A long time ago, that was for sure. He didn’t know how much longer the fair would be coming around; what with all the gangs running around, and the riots… the weapons. He didn’t like violence, and he didn’t like chaos. He avoided that as much as he could. As much as was possible.

 

                “Can I have one adult pass, please? One with all the rides on it? Yes, one of those, please?” asked Ernest.

                He handed the dreary looking man on the other side of the little window a twenty dollar bill, and then a five dollar bill. The man nodded, and slid him his bracelet.

                “Thank you” Said Ernest

                The man nodded again, and then turned to the register. Ernest scooted out of the line, and snapped the little paper bracelet around his wrist. Crisp satisfaction swept through him as he thought: And I’m all set!

                Ahhh… so what to do first? He felt good... fresh. Better then he had in years. And for once... for once!... he didn’t feel quite so lonesome. Well gosh, he was at the fair!

                It may have been many years, but the rides were still the same as always. There was the Ring of Fire, the Tilt-A-Whirl, the Zipper, the Spider, the Gravitron… and of course, the Viking Ship. He would save the best for last. He had all night, plus, with his little paper bracelet, unlimited rides. He would ride the Viking Ship twice. No, no… he would ride the other rides twice and the ship three times. He could ride them all he wanted!

                Okay, well maybe he wouldn’t go crazy. He was old, after all. Much older then last time.

 

                He looked about, a big childish grin struck on his haggard face. He welcomed the swift army of smells; the animals, the hay, the funnel cakes and the dough-boys… the elephant ears and the cotton candy, all mingling in jagged, wafting unison. He was so happy to be here, that even the hovering cigarette smoke was a welcome scent.

                He watched the vast crowds scurrying around the fair-grounds; the ranchers and wranglers in their old cowboy hats and faded Levi’s. The families; brothers and sisters and mothers and fathers… aunts and uncles, cousins and grandparents. Large, joyously wild jubilees. There was the sketchier group; the teens with their clicks and clans, their various, strange and shady styles. The punks and the trouble-makers. The ones responsible for the fairs infamous fights.

                And then there were the couples. Old couples, young couples, married couples, teen couples. The “someone for everyone” idea brought to life. Only except for… he didn’t have a “someone”. He never had. Seeing them all made him happy, but for them… not for himself. As for himself, it always would send a small twinge of that old lonesomeness through his heart. He ignored it, and remembered that he was here to have fun, not to dwindle.

                He looked up and around, at all of the monumental rides, all of the lights; so many colors… spinning and rising and falling and dipping. Colors contrasting joyously with the cold, black night. He looked around and decided that this was really it. He was finally here, at the fair. Finally.

 

                Ring of Fire was always the most popular ride, and he decided to get it over with before the line got to long. It was already long enough when he stepped in, and he was glad he hadn’t waited any longer. He looked up with flaring joy at the red and orange flaming ring, with its rolling screams emitting from its speeding flame.

                As the line slowly crawled and inched its way up, he listened to the kids in front of him; three girls, all about sixteen or seventeen.

                “So, is Rebecca coming on Saturday?” said one girl; a husky, self-conscious looking teen with straightened black hair that hung over her raccoon-painted eyes. She wore a black and white flannel that her meaty sides bulged out of, and grey skinny jeans that her figure could barely fit in. It reminded Ernest of a boa constrictor wrapped around its prey, cutting off the circulation. He thought it was a sad but funny sight.

                “Hell no! Not after last weekend. She was sooo drunk, and she actually threw up on Jed!” breathed another girl; a stick skinny version of the bigger girl, and almost the exact same outfit, only instead of a black and white flannel, a blue and yellow flannel. And instead of jet black hair, it was blond with streaks of black. Plus, smaller clothes… much smaller.

                The final girl gasped at this comment. She looked to be about in between the other two, as far as size… but at least she had her own style! A plain white tank top that showed an indecent amount of cleavage and a denim mini-skirt that showed most of her thighs. A separate style, but a sickening one, if you asked Ernest.

                “Nuh-uh!” she shouted, nearly right in Ernest’s ear. “She did not! Was Jed pissed, or what?”

                “No, like, not even!” said the skinny girl. “Jed even told me on Monday that he wasn’t mad, and he still likes her!”

                “Oh my God,” gasped the fat girl. “Remember that weekend when Julie was acting all wasted, after she only had one beer!?”

                “Yeah!” shouted mini-skirt girl. “She was like, totally faking it. Just to get attention. I think she was just trying to impress Josh or something.”

                “What? Julie is such a b***h! Remember last year, when she told everybody that she did it with Eric?” ranted the skinny girl.

                The fat girl’s eyes widened, and she said, “Yeah! Holy s**t, that was sooo retarded! Eric was like, so creeped out!”

                Wow, the youth is worse than I remember, thought Ernest. Was it that bad when I was a kid?

                And that was when he remembered the last time he had been to the fair. It had been the summer of ’09, as he recalled. Why he had recalled it right then, there was no clear reason.

                Before he knew it, he and the girls were the next in line for the Ring. Although never quite his favorite ride, it was a thrill, and although he knew he was getting too old for these kinds of things, he couldn’t pass up what could very possibly be his last chance. Who knew if the fair would come back?

                Fat girl and Mini-skirt girl both boarded the front row of the car, Ernest and Skinny girl seated promptly in the back. He wanted to say something to the girl, something like, “Hey, you nervous,” or, “Are you ready?”… But he couldn’t. That made him sound too much like a pedophile, he thought.

                Instead, Skinny leaned forward and tapped Fat’s shoulders, and then said, “Hey, you ready?”

                Fat girl nodded and smiled excitedly.

                The ride operator came around one last time and strapped everyone in. He went back up to the control board, and there was a sudden whirring roar. The straps tightened, and the car jerked angrily forward.

                At that, it began to move forward slightly, then back about the same distance. Back and forth, back and forth… a little faster, a little faster. After one nauseating minute, it went up fast enough so it was upside down, the back at the same shrilling speed. Back and forth, back and forth… upside down, right side up. After about five minutes of this… it slowed a little. A little slower, slower… and slower. Screaming. Screams of joyous terror, mostly from the girl besides him, and those in front of him.

                Finally, the car stopped, and the metal bars rose obediently upward.

                “Oh my God, that was so scary!” one of the girls wailed triumphantly.

                “It wasn’t too bad,” said another. After that, Ernest headed towards the exit, and left the Ring, leaving behind the girls who didn’t like Rebecca or Julie but seemed to like Jed, Josh and Eric.

 

                What next? Well, he stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jeans, and felt the comforting crumple of another bill. He pulled it out and noticed that it was a five-dollar bill. That was enough to buy an elephant ear. He sure did love elephant ears.

                He walked up to the line of one of the many good shacks, and was happy to know that he was only the third in the line. The man directly in front of him wore a large brown double-breasted jacket, with cheap dress pants, and long raggedy hair.

                “What do you mean that he isn’t going to make it?” the man spat into his cell-phone. “Do you think this is some kind of damn joke? Yeah… okay, well, I’ll call you back. Hold on,” he hissed, shortly after, hanging up the phone. The man in front of him ordered frozen lemonade, and then the cell-phone man stepped up and said, “Can I please have a water? Bottled?”

“Sure thing, pal,” said the employee, grabbing a water out of the mini-fridge behind him. “That it?”

“Yep.”

He exchanged the water for two one-dollar bills, and then said, “Have a good one, guy.”

“Sure.”

And with that, the man nodded, and walked away, punching numbers on his phone.

                Ernest stepped up to the counter.

                “Can I have an elephant ear, please?”

                The man said nothing, only turned around and grabbed an ear out of the mini-oven. He slathered it graciously with butter, and covered it with a mountain of powdered sugar.

                He handed the ear to Ernest on a greasy wax-paper platter. Ernest traded him his five dollar bill.

                “Thank you, sir,” Ernest said calmly.

                He took a bite, and knew what would be coming later: try for heart burn, maybe a miserable stomach ache. Oh well… with that first bite, he also knew it would be well worth it. This brought him back, the oily mixture of sweet and salty flavor; the doughy, crunchy texture. Back in his younger days, when he would eat one every night that the fair was in town.

               

                Okay, well… the Zipper? It sure was fun, but… would it be worth the inevitable vomiting that would follow? He didn’t think so. Especially after eating an elephant ear. And with him being older… not knowing anybody here. If he had been a teen, and had been with friends…well, that may have been different. Funny, even. Not that he had ever been with friends as a teen, but even so… as a child it would have been different than as an old man. Instead of funny and gross it would be… well, creepy and gross. All of that, and the fact that he didn’t really enjoy puking.

                Okay, so a big fat nay on the Zipper.

                He watched the multitude of smaller crowds scurrying and hurrying and walking and talking. Laughing and muttering whispering and shouting. He saw pretty girls and ugly girls… ugly girls with handsome men, and ugly men with pretty girls. Then there were the pretty couples, and the ugly couples. None of which he had ever been apart of. He watched them with grim fascination; holding hands, arms around waists, heads on shoulders. Smiles, everywhere.

 

                So, the Gravitron? He had always found the idea of being plastered against a wall from the force of speed and gravity was excitingly pleasurable, but… if the Zipper was bound to induce an upchuck; he could only imagine what the Gravitron would do.

                Okay, so what about the bumper cars? Uh-uh; he had never enjoyed those, even as a restless kid. The whole idea of a ride that was based on opponents, or going against other people… well, strangers scared him. He hated conflict of all kinds, even staged conflict such as that. If it was with other friends, well that might have been another thing… but he had never had the friends to go against. Only strangers.

                Strangers.

 

                After another few moments of considering, he finally decided on the haunted house. Cheap… more funny than scary, really. But what the hell, it was still fun. And who could ever pass up on the haunted house? Not him, not Ernest, no sir.

                The line was surprisingly long, for a rather unpopular ride. It looked to be about a half an hour waiting. So he went and stood behind a teenager, who in turn was standing beside a younger, similar looking kid. Similar, only without the acne and loose, curling hair. No doubt it was the teen’s baby brother. The teen looked to be around sixteen, the younger kid around nine. He stood behind with his elephant ear in hand, about half eaten now, his chapped lips and stubbled chin coated in salty grease.

                “Are you scared, Darren?” said the teen slyly to his younger brother.

                “No!” responded the kid, annoyed.

                Big brother considered for a moment. “Are you sure? I heard it’s really scary this year. One kid had to get out and leave right in the middle of it.”

                “Yeah right, Tad. You’re a liar.”

                “Okay then, you’ll just have to see for yourself,” said Tad hotly.

                After that, their conversation stopped, and Tad gazed gloomily the other way. Ernest joined him for a split moment, out of dull, lifeless curiosity, and saw that they were staring faintly at a group of no-doubt delinquents. A large group of kids of all colors, white being the major minority, all kids wearing similar clothing; baggy jeans, hip-hop jacks and titled, flat-billed hats. Some wearing expensive, colorful basketball shoes, some wearing chains and shiny cross necklaces, all wearing a grim, hostile look on their face. They all looked to be around the same age as Tad, some perhaps older.

                Ernest looked sorrowfully back at Tad, feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable… but noticed that Tad continued to stare. Now only feeling uncomfortable and vulnerable for Tad, he looked down at his feet, noticing the way that Darren was staring nervously at the entrance of the haunted house ride.

                After a long, long time… Ernest looked back up at Tad, and saw that his glance was beginning to focus elsewhere; to his younger brother. There was a look of doomed terror in his eyes, and he took a deep, nervous sigh shakily into his heaving lungs. What was happening? Ernest knew in another moment.

                “Hey man, what’s up?” said a hoarse, playfully sinister voice. Tad looked back, and Ernest joined him, and they both saw that it was a kid from the group… one of the bigger ones, too. A Mexican, with one of the less expensive pairs of black, beat-up sneakers… but a bulky, low-hung gold chain, with a silver cross hanging at the end. His flat-billed New York hat sat loosely backwards on his buzzed head, and his tall-tee hung nearly below the knee’s of his baggy jeans.

                “What’s, what’s up… man?” sputtered Tad, terrified.

                “I asked you, dawg! So tell me, what the f**k is up?” he spat, his voice rising hideously at the end, warning… but still sadistically playful.

                “What do you… wh-what do you mean?” Tad barely managed. Darren looked fearfully up at the kid, then up to his older brother.

                “Why the f**k were you starin’ at me, punk? That’s what’s up, f****t!”

                “I wasn’t even looking at you, man! I was just glancing that direction!”

                “Yeah? You sure ‘bout that?”

                “Yes! I’m just trying to take my little brother on this ride. I didn’t mean to-“

                “Ah, shut the hell up, b***h. Just don’t slip again, or imma f**k you up, kid. Got that, dawg?”

                Ernest looked back at the rest of the kid’s group, noticing sickeningly that they were pointing and chuckling, rooting him on. There were a few spectators; some children, some adults, standing around and saying nothing. Just watching, standing in line. Oh well, right?

                “Whatever, man,” Tad said frustratingly, a little less shakily now.

                The Mexican’s eyes lit up… lit up madly. He pumped his arms back, and pushed Tad forcefully into Darren. Darren fell back, gasped, and began to whimper.

                “Hey!” shouted Tad, regaining his balance.

                The kid stood solidly, waiting for Tad to make a move. Tad only stood, and shook his head angrily.

                The kid laughed, and said, “Yeah. Later, queer.”

                And with that, he walked triumphantly back with his friends. Ernest felt cold resentment towards the kid and his group, but also towards Tad, for backing down. Then again, he would have to feel it towards himself, in that case, for standing around and doing nothing. Just like everybody else that had witnessed it. Basically, he just resented the situation.

                Oh well, that was just another part of the fair, wasn’t it?

                “What a frigging jerk, huh?” said Tad to Darren.

                “Yeah, but you backed off like a sissy!” he almost laughed.

                “Shut up, homo!” cried Tad shamefully.

                Both kids looked down at their feet after that. Ernest finished his elephant ear, crumpling the wax-paper and throwing it into a nearby trash-bin. He watched the group of hoods migrate another direction, looking for trouble. He was glad they were gone. They would get what they deserved, eventually. Pick the wrong fight. Ernest knew they would.

               

                Neither Big nor Baby brother spoke until it was their turn to get on the ride. It wasn’t a walk-through haunted house as Ernest had hoped, but rather a seated, moving ride. They all got in the black and red coffin shaped car, and Ernest was sat in the same one as Tad and Darren, along with another stranger; a man that looked around his own age, a more cheerful, less lonesome looking man. Not that Ernest really felt lonesome, or anything.

                “Is this ride scary,” Darren asked the ride operator, before he set them off into the laughing, screaming darkness.

                “Ehh, not really, not until you get to the seventy-five foot drop,” he muttered. The stranger in the coffin laughed ghoulishly, and Tad laughed along with him. Ernest only smiled… poor kid. Darren’s eyes widened and he shook his head manically.

                “He’s only fooling, son,” laughed the stranger, patting him cheerfully on the shoulder.

                “Yeah, he’s only kidding… let’s hope,” said Tad spookily.

                The car suddenly jolted forward, causing Darren to gasp… then slowed again, setting itself on the tracks. A moment later, all was dark.

               

                An average haunted house of the average county fair: steam shooting sporadically, cheap animatronics sprouting out in random places, a ghoulish laugh or a fiendish howl every now and again. Big deal, Ernest thought. Although he did get a kick out of a terrified Darren’s screams and shouts.

                After the ride was over, and they were plunged back into the dead blue moonlight, Ernest laughed, “Well that was something, huh?”

                Nobody said anything back, until the stranger said, “Hey, son, was that so bad?”

                “Chhh! No! Sissy ride,” Darren breathed.

                “Yeah right!” chuckled Tad. Although Ernest knew Darren had been pretty scared throughout the last twenty minutes, he also knew that Tad had been much more terrified, and for different reasons.

 

                After that, Ernest sat down on a bench and watched the crowds. How late was it? He wondered. Well, as long as there were still a ton of people floating around, it didn’t really matter, did it? Faintly, he could hear some bouncy country music being performed somewhere on the fair grounds. He could also hear the loud speaker of the rodeo host shouting out praises and criticisms towards the bull-riders. He had thought about maybe going to watch the rodeo, but had decided against it. He really didn’t enjoy seeing animals being abused and hurt for entertainment. He also didn’t like seeing people be hurt; it made him cringe and his heart feel sad. And the last thing he needed was to be sad. He needed to stay happy, these days.

                Well, what ride was next on the list?

                The Spider, or the Octopus, as he called it. You know… the one with the round head in the middle, and the eight extended arms that spin and bob up and down at the same time? He always loved that ride; a thrill… but nothing too wild at the same time. Nothing too bumpy or jerky or vomit inducing.

                He scanned around that part of the grounds for the ride, and noticed with hurried glee the weaving, bobbing lights… the egg shaped head in the middle slowly rotating, searching the fair, searching for more children to hold in its inky, flashing tentacles.

 

                Just before he got up off of the bench to head for his ride, a girl sat down on the bench right next to him. Well, on the other side of the bench, but still… the same bench. She glanced at him for a moment as she settled in, and for a fleeing second of giddy panic, he thought she might speak to him. Maybe even talk to him. He prepared himself. The panic passed, and become hopeless desire, when she turned her head the other way, and ruffled a hand through her neat, yet slightly frizzled amber hair. The hopeless desire became a deserting, desperate plea, when she pulled her cell-phone out of her pocket, flipped it open, and began to dance her thumbs wildly on its tiny buttons.

                But he didn’t want it to become a plea, because pleas were lonely, and unhappy. But hey! It was no big deal; after all… he had a ride to catch, didn’t he?

                So he went to stand up and walk away… but found he couldn’t move. Somewhere, there was still some lifeless hope. More like a compromise, really. Maybe If I start out?

                She wouldn’t think he was too creepy, would she? It wasn’t as if she was a kid; she was a grown woman, looking to be between thirty or thirty-five. Dark amber hair… even darker flooding eyes… pale white, moonlit skin. All he had to do was say good evening.

                “Good evening,” he whispered, so quietly, that she might not have heard it. In fact, she hadn’t heard it, because he hadn’t even said it. He had only thought it, he realized pathetically.

                He coughed lightly, and then cleared his throat.

                Her eyes never diverted from the screen.

                He chuckled privately, about nothing… hoping for her to raise a question. At least look up…

                Nothing.

                He sighed.

                …

 

                He forced himself to get up and walk away, before loneliness flared, and filled his head… like a rising flood. Or like being trapped in the bottom of a sinking freighter.

               

                He turned his eyes from the many couples as he walked, and soon, like a puppy being punished for a small mistake, he forgot all about it. He forgot, because he had made it to the Octopus. Its arms were beckoning him to come for a ride. To hold him, if no one else would.

                How long was the line for the ol’ Spider? Well, it was another long one. But heck, he would live. The folks in front of him seemed pretty boring; just a couple of male teenagers with their straight-cut hair hanging sorrowfully over their eyes, cracking disgusting jokes to each other, and modestly discussing who they thought was “gay” or “queer”.

                After a while, the line grew furiously, almost all at once, behind him. He knew this because he could hear a sudden ocean of conversation erupt behind him. He turned to see if he was right, and saw the gentleman from the haunted house standing right behind him.

                “Do you mean that she’s in the place over by 14^th?” said the man into his black, bulky cell-phone. Ernest knew he would recognize him, so he nodded politely. The man glanced up for a moment, but then glanced right back down after Ernest’s nod.

                He must not have seen me, Ernest thought. He raised his hand, and called, “Hey!” to the man.

                He glanced up again, only looking slightly at Ernest, and Ernest once again shouted, “Hey! I was on the-“

                The man looked down again, and said, “Well, okay… so is that pretty close to the high school? Well I understand, but-“

                Ernest, wholly disappointed, turned back around. Tough crowd, he thought grimly. Oh well.

                He was much farther up into the line now, only a few people behind the front. After the next round of people got off the ride, everybody down to the two boys in front of him were allowed on. That meant he was next, and that he would ride alone. That was okay for a ride like this… you wanted an Octopus arm all for yourself on a ride like this.

                He watched the brightly colored arms swing and spin one more time, than watched the last crowds get off and leave through the exit gate. He turned one last time as the entrance was opened, and saw that the haunted house man had had a small child, hidden behind his big black double-breasted jacket the entire time. His son, or maybe his grandson. So even this man wasn’t alone tonight. But where had the kid been at the haunted house?

                Probably with Gramma, Ernest thought foolishly, as he climbed into the black Octopus arm closest to the entrance.

 

                After the Spider, he felt refreshed, ready for another big ride. Not the Gravitron or the Zipper, but something about in between, like the Tilt-A-Whirl. The line for that was nice and short; in fact, there was only about three groups waiting, and as soon as Ernest stepped in, a young mother and her little girl stepped in behind him.

                “Auntie Beth, can we get snow-cones after this?” the little girl asked, tugging on to Beth’s arm selfishly. Okay, so scratch the line “her little girl”. Maybe just her little niece.

                “You’ll have to ask your mama. She might kill me if I give you sugar,” she said in a deep-fried southern accent.

                “Please?” she whined, her eyes widening.

                “Right after we get off the ride, Ashley. You don’t want to lose our spot, do you sweetie?”

                “No,” she said gleefully. Whew! Bullet dodged.

                Nicely handled, Beth, Ernest thought laughingly. He turned his head and smiled, hoping the smile would say it for him. She didn’t smile back, only cocked her head slightly, as if to get a better look at the ride itself. Ernest himself turned back around, the smile still lingering, but slowly dying. What was the smile for now? And who? Who had it ever been for, other than himself?

                Before he knew it, he was climbing into the funny, half-eggshell shaped seats that spun and twirled and swirled obediently on their rotating platform. He enjoyed this ride because it was pretty calm, but not by any means boring.

                As it went, he would occasionally catch a glance at Ashley and Beth, screaming and laughing and cheering with nothing but love for each other, snow-cones shortly awaiting (maybe), spinning and bobbing in their funny little pod.

               

                Ernest was a bit tired after that, so he went and bought a frozen lemonade with the very last contents of his sadly dry pockets. Change wasn’t as easy to come by those days, ya know. He slurped down ravenously, and it was cold and delicious. He was ready for some more action. He felt like he could finally conquer the dreaded bumper cars, and he headed for the line.

                This was the longest line yet, and he almost left just due to the fact that he would be waiting for an hour just for a ride he didn’t even really like. But he stuck it out, and pulled through, just for fun-ness sake.

                And so what turned out to be an hour and fifteen minutes, he stood and listened to the group of four rowdy looking country kids standing right in front of him, all wearing old Carhart jackets, Dickies work pants, and old baseball caps. Mostly, they talked about trucks; their favorite kind (Ford F-150 being the general consensus, and any type of Chevy being the most resented), how they wrecked their old rides while driving drunk through the back roads, and how they had to replace the carburetor on their dad’s ancient dodge last Thursday. That, among other things, such as getting in fights with “n*****s”, pulling a 12-guage on their drunken Aunt’s boyfriend, and which of them slept with a hand-job from the hottest girl in the last month.

                Ernest, for some reason, felt intimidated by these kids, and he hoped he didn’t end up in the same round as they did.

                Which, he did.

               

                He got into the car closest to the entrance, farthest from the four kids as possible. The ride began, and his car jerked forward without him doing so. It took him a moment, actually… the entire ride, to get a feel for the controls. He couldn’t figure out the inverted steering, or the awkward location of the tiny, pointless brake pedal. Whenever someone would bump him, and would get frustrated, and try desperately to steer the other way. Mostly, he tried to hit what looked like the nicest people, and would laugh or smile whenever he did, never earning a smile back. Once, he hit one of the redneck kids, and the look on the kids face made Ernest think he was going to get out of his car, and clock him a good one in his mouth. Ernest just wanted it to end, regretting ever getting on it.

                When the cars finally stopped, Ernest’s heart pumping with anxiety and panic based fuel, the announcer said over his loudspeaker, “Okay, was that fun? Whew! I saw some raw collisions out there! I hope that guy in the flannel over there isn’t driving home tonight! Now please un-strap your seatbelts, and head for the exit. Have a good night, folks!”

                Ernest un-strapped the gut-wrenchingly tight belt, and hurried to the exit. He disappeared quickly into the crowds.

 

                After the cars, Ernest didn’t feel very good, and he wished he had waited until now to buy the frozen lemonade. Now, he had to go on a fun ride to compensate for the bad one.

                Well, is it time for the Viking Ship, finally? He thought greedily.

                Nope, we’re saving the best for last. We’re gonna ride it twice.

 

                He couldn’t let that one stupid ride get him down. Altogether, he was having a pretty good time, wasn’t he?

                It might be better if someone was with me, he almost thought, but quickly and proficiently convinced himself he actually hadn’t. Good thing, because if he had, that would mean he was slipping.

                And he was here to have a good time, not to be caught slipping.

                So, what next?

 

                What he liked about the Ferris wheel at this fair, was that instead of those rickety, swinging benches, they were hanging baskets that you sat in. They felt a lot safer, and a lot more secure. The thing he loved about any Ferris wheel was the view; the view of the fair, and the view of the city. He loved being stuck at the top, for anywhere between five to ten minutes. That was his next destination… straight to the top.

                He got into the back of the line, behind three little kids, ranging between seven and ten years old. They were laughing and giggling and shouting; having a fun time, even while being stuck at the back of a very long line. It was a busy night. A busy, busy night.

                “Sharon, shut up! You don’t know anything!”

                “You’re a jerk, Tommy! Don’t tell a girl to shut up!”

                “Okay… shut up.”

                “Tommy, look, dude! It’s Jared and Eric!”

                Just a mingling of high, wavering cackles and cries that he barely paid attention to. What really got his attention was the much deeper, smoke-choked rasp from behind him.

                “Hey, hey you! I’m talkin’ to you!”

                Ernest spun around, his heart fluttering, his stomach attempting a double back-flip swan-dive. He met eye to eye with a lankily slouching kid of about nineteen or twenty, with scraggly patches of facial hair, and a grotesque mask of piercings. He had black, thick dreadlocks dangling out of a loosely fit Rasta-colored beanie. His hands were stuffed deep into the pockets of his burl black hoodie that had a tackily patched pot-leaf design smack on the middle of it. His legs stood crooked in his ridiculously tight, purple leopard-skin print jeans. What a sad sight; Ernest was profoundly creeped out by this kid with a no-doubt stoned look in his groggy eyes.

                “Uhh, yes?” Ernest nearly whispered.

                “Hey, a*****e! Jack, you f*g! Can’t you hear me up there? HEY JACK!!” he shrieked.

                Ernest turned, cool waves of relief falling through him, to see who the kid was actually yelling at, and saw about ten people up, an almost similar looking weirdo throw his head back and shoot up his middle finger.

                “Yeah, Josh, I hear you! What the hell is it, man?” the kid yelled back.

                “Let me and Chero cut you in line!”

                “F**k you! You guys can come get behind me!”

                Sick! Alright, hold on!”

                And with that, Josh stepped out of the line and stomped right past Ernest and the three kids in front of him, followed cautiously by equally creepy looking fat girl, who was wearing heavy black make-up, and a bluish-purple Mohawk.

                What has the world come to? Ernest thought dryly.

 

                Ernest was sat two carts behind the three kids, so at least he wouldn’t have to hear them. The creepy pot-heads were already off the ride, so he didn’t have to gaze unwillingly at them and their antics. He leaned back in the hard metal bench, and folded his hands drowsily behind his head, ready for ascent. The cart suddenly jerked back and forth as it took off, and soon after… Ernest could feel the chilly breeze prickling and biting at his clammy, hot skin. It felt good… calming.

                The cart slowly rose higher and higher into the air, swaying and rocking gently as it went. The fair, in his squinting eyes, became farther and farther…a deeper, more pictorial landscape. When he was finally at the top, he took a satisfied sigh as he looked down at the mesmerizing view. The lights of every single ride shone playfully; a city of colors within itself.

                Then, there was the real city, on the other side of him. Rivers of yellow, flooding between splotches of white and gold, blocks of black, towers of silver with sparks of blood-red. Flashing signs of neon blue and green. It was all so beautiful. It was only too bad he had nobody to watch it with. He was viewing all of this beauty by himself. Alone, as it always had been. The breeze that brushed busily past him, ruffling his hair and his shirt, suddenly became a lonely wind.

                They say if you’ve always been alone, you don’t feel lonely; because you it’s all you know. But Ernest didn’t agree; he knew about feeling lonesome, and it was a terrible feeling. It was like this cloud that constantly hung watchfully over your head, and whenever the sun would begin to shine, the cloud would sheath the light, and pour its ceaseless rain over you.

                Was he really lonely, though? He didn’t think so… didn’t want to think so. He didn’t even want to think about it! He hated the idea, and refused to let it flood his mind. He just wanted to have a fun time at the fair. Plus, how could he be lonely… with the hundreds and hundreds of people all around him?

 

                It wasn’t until the second round coming up that he noticed the people in the cart in front of him. It was a young man and woman; a head of shimmering blond hair, and a head of short, firm brown. The man’s arm was rested assuringly around the girl’s shoulder, and her head was rested assuringly on his. The next time the cart came all the way up, they would see the view together. They would see the city; the fields of gold, and the fair; the circus of lights… together. Holding each other. And when it was his turn to sit at the pinnacle, he would see the same view, alone.

                He had a feeling that he was only seeing half of the landscape, and that if you were seeing it with a lover, or even just a friend… that it would be twice as beautiful. It would be different; twice as bright, and twice as hypnotizing. Now that he thought about it, the view that he was seeing was only dull… only still, lifeless colors. He wanted to see it as they were seeing it; happy and no-doubt loved.

                For the rest of the ride, his head was buried sorrowfully in his hands. The only view he had now was… darkness.

 

                After he got off the Ferris wheel, he was finally ready for the Viking Ship. The ride he loved, and the only love he ever had. It sounded strange, but he didn’t care… because who was there to judge him? It was the ride he grew up with… so what could he say?

                The ride was clear on the other side of the fair. It was a long walk, but a relaxing one. He began to head that direction.

                He passed the many small shops as he went; saw those selling things such as fake jewelry, herbal lotions, and hemp products. He passed the stage where a local band was playing an amateur rendition of an old Hank Williams tune. At one point, actually fairly close to the haunted house, he passed Darren and Tad… shortly after passing the Mexican and his friends, who were seemingly following behind. His heart went out for Tad, and he hoped there wasn’t another accident.

                A few minutes later, he passed the gentleman from the haunted house, who was hand in hand with another older woman, who in turn was hand in hand with the young child. Grandma, Grandpa, and Grandson. They were all smiling happily, the kid greedily devouring some blue and purple cotton candy.

                He passed Ashley and Beth, Ashley with a rainbow-colored snow cone in her hand, and the region around her mouth coated blue and red from the syrup. Beth was on her cell-phone, likely with Ashley’s mother.

               

                He was now closer to the Ship, standing mere feet from the same shack where he had bought the elephant ear. He noticed that the three girls from the Ring of Fire were all in the line together, laughing cheerfully and making funny faces at each other.

                Still sitting on that same bench was the lady he had tried to talk to earlier, still busily on her cell phone. She was still texting, her eyes heavily engaged on the tiny LCD.

                And only a few minutes more of walking wearily, and he stood before the Ship.

 

                There was practically no line; in fact, only two people in front of him, and once he stepped in, two behind him. The two behind were two young kids, both looking around twelve or thirteen years old. They were nervously holding hands. Then the people in front of him, he noticed maddeningly, were the same people that had been on the Ferris wheel. How was that possible? Right then, he didn’t know exactly how to feel. He was all burnt out on feeling, but he was even more burnt out on not feeling. It was all too much.

                “So anyway, I hopped over the fence and just started running,” said a nasally voice from behind him.

                “Did anyone catch you?” spoke another voice, softer, more mature, also from behind.

                “Yeah! This guy actually came out of his house and started yelling at me that he was gonna call the friggin’ cops!”

                “Oh my Gosh! That was Mr. Burke! He’s an a*****e.”

                “Yeah, so I ran through his yard and hopped his fence, and ran through the woods ‘till I got to my place.”

                “Were your parents mad?”

                “No, they had no idea. I came in through the back door; they didn’t hear me.”

                “Good, and I put the ladder back before my folks got up.”

                Ernest listened to this conversation happening behind him, simultaneously watching the Ferris wheel couple before him, wondering how the view had been.

                These kids’ conversation reminded him of when he was a kid, around fifteen years old, and he had hopped somebody’s fence. Only, this man hadn’t been as friendly as Mr. Burke, and had actually held his 12-guage at him.

                Ernest hadn’t been sneaking back from a girlfriend’s house, but rather from the river, after eating acid by himself. He had taken two pills, purchased from a kid at school that he hadn’t known, and had then ran through the woods, trying to get home. He had had no idea you were not supposed to acid by yourself, but he had, and even if he had known, he would’ve done it anyways. He had hallucinated being chased by hungry, naked demons, and It had been scary, but it had also been sort’ve fun.

                This memory made him laugh. He laughed out loud; heartily, and abruptly. He assumed that the young couple behind him was wondering what was so funny, so he turned around with a big, dumb grin on his face. He said, “You know, that happened to me when I was a kid, only the guy pulled a flippin’ shotgun on me!”

                He waited for their reaction, but neither of them responded. They only fell silent, and looked hesitantly at each other.

                Ernest chuckled a little bit softer, sort’ve looking down.

                “Yup, had to, uhh… hop the fence, and what not. Sure was funny.”

                Nothing. They only looked away from him… partly at each other, partly at their own sneakers.

                “Yep,” said Ernest dully, turning back around. What was taking so damn long? Wasn’t it almost their turn already?

                “So, is this the last ride for tonight?” asked the blond girl in front of him, softly… kindly.

                “Yeah, probably. Where do you wanna go when we leave?” asked her guy.

                “Let’s just go home, babe.”

                “Sure thing. I love you.”

                He kissed her, and she put her arm around his waist. Ernest wished they could board the Ship already. He could feel the cloud growing above his head, darkening the thousands of lights around them. It was on the verge of exploding with that lonesome rain, which would no-doubt make him slip. He couldn’t slip. Not while this close….

                And then, the Ship began to slow. Finally… finally, finally, finally!! When the Ship finally came to its momentous halt, the few people riding got off, picked up their hats and wallets and phones, and headed for the exit.

                Ernest, the fence-hopping couple, and the Ferris wheel couple boarded the Ship. Ernest was now Leif Erickson, and the others were his dreaded Viking crew. He watched the Ferris wheel couple sit down in the middle section of the Ship, arms still around each other. What kind of Viking conduct was that?

                The two kids unlinked hands, and sat in the very back section.

                Ernest sat promptly in the very front… his favorite spot.

 

                The operator came around and buckled them all in, then went back to his station… and started the Ship up.

                Excitement bursted through Ernest as the Ship slowly crept forward, ever so slightly, and then gently fell back. They were really taking off. Finally… it was really happening, after all these years.

                They swung back forward, a little farther now, the breeze pushing angrily past them.

                Then back again. Forward… faster, farther.

                Back… farther, faster.

                The waves were growing, the oars were rowing, and the lights were glowing, serving as the wild night’s ominous lighting.

                Up into the air, and then back down, barely sweeping above the metal platform.

                Back into the air… a moment of stunning hang-time, and then back forward.

                Now, the ship rushed madly forward, preparing for its pinnacle.

               

It came to the top, and reached its momentary, yet colossal suspension.

                And at that moment, something passed through Ernest. The stormy waters of his lonesome cloud breached over the sides of his Ship, his ship whose metal embrace had always protected him from that flood, for all of those wandering years.

                The feeling should have been joy… but it wasn’t. It was something else; it was realization. He suddenly realized…

                He had never felt real joy before. Even at the fair… and on the Ship.

                He wasn’t hated, nor was he loved.

                He was just…

                Lonely.

 

                The Ship flew backwards, the air now rushing furiously. One of the girls behind him screamed excitedly. He fumbled his hand around blindly until his fingers found the buckle unlock, and they pushed forcefully, as the Ship flew.

                He was surprised when the belt actually unlocked, and fell to the metal at his feet, clinking softly as it struck. He held on tight to the metal bar in front of him as it swung forward again, reaching nearly the same height as it had in its last monumental swing.

                Only this time, in the moment that the Ship held suspended in the air, Ernest stood up on his seat.

                With out even a moment of hesitation, he dived forward as hard and as far as he could, just as the Ship began to fly back again.

                He balanced his body on the very end of the Ship for less than a fleeing second before he stumbled off, and he fell to the hard metal platform. Into the rushing, storming waters of his un-contended loneliness.

                Leif was going over-board.

 

                He hit the platform, feet first… his left leg folding back on the impact. There was a cold, hard snap, and the soft thud of his heel bumping his lower back. All the breath in his body was heaved out by the dictating force of the metal and he let out a whooping gasp.

                His eyes blurred terribly, but he could still fearfully make out the shape of the Ship; swinging backwards at full speed. He watched it hand in the air, then began to fly back forward. He stood up shakily on his right leg, his hands both trembling madly on the cold, metal floor. He shook his head and the blurring cleared up a bit.

                He could see the Ship swinging at him, full speed.

                Suddenly all the fear left him. Swung out of him, as the Ship swung towards him.

                He mustered up all the air left in his aching body, and used every ounce of it to scream at the top of his old, pitiful lungs.

 

                “WHAT A F*****G TRIP!!” he screamed.

                An instant later, the massive bulk of swinging steel struck him.

 

                There was no pain. Only a sudden flying sensation; almost serene. It was strange. As he flew, he wondered how many people were watching him, and screaming. He imagined the ride operator fumbling madly with the controls, trying to find the emergency stop button in a frenzied panic.

                He imagined the couples on the Ship screaming no longer for joy, but for stunned grief and horror. He couldn’t actually hear the screams, because all sound was trumped by an engulfing ringing in his ears; but he knew they would be.

                His body hit the soft dirt, after an endless time, and he collapsed. At that point, he felt almost as if he had… well, walked here from the Ship. But that was impossible. The Ship had just hit him, and sent his brittle body flying, sprawling into the dirt.

                He counted, in his mind, to ten, somehow still conscious. Nobody came running to him. The ringing sound died down, and there was silence… provided the night wind, and the howling of a distant-

                (Coyote? Is this the-)

                coyote. He craned his neck to the right, and saw with black horror that the operator stood calmly at his post, his hands hovering casually over the controls. The ride was still going, and not even slowing.

                No screaming. The sounded faded into the silence, but the sound was laughing and talking and walking. He moved his head around as much as he could, only seeing people wandering… wandering towards rides, or the bathrooms, or the snack booths, or the rodeo, or the arcade, or the concert, or the ticket booth. Just… walking and wandering.

                He saw couples, families, and friends. Everything was normal. He was bleeding on the dirt, dying… and nobody was doing anything.

                Nobody even cares!

                Nobody… even…

                “Cares,” he whispered hoarsely… before it all faded. Before his cloud finally disappeared from over the Ship, leaving it to sail its sea of lights… in peace.

 

 

 

 

2. Richie on the Roof 

       “Date: Tuesday, September 2^nd, 2043 A.H. Location: Clackamas County Fairgrounds, Canby, Oregon. This is, as usual, Jed Wilson reporting. We’ve come across the recently deceased corpse of an elderly man, approximately sixty to sixty-five years of age. The cause of death is not certain, but his left leg does appear to be severely broken. There is no other indication of other injury, fatal or otherwise. The corpse lies approximately ten yards south of the fairs ‘Swinging Ship’ ride.”

                He pressed the pause button on his little, black recorder, and sighed. Dreadful silence followed.

                Neda broke it when she suddenly whispered, “What the hell happened here?”

                “I’m not sure, but I can tell you this much: he was a Drifter,” said Jed hoarsely. He took a long, shaking drag of his old Marlboro jutting from his fingers, than said, “Just another Wasteland Drifter.”

                “What?”

                “A Drifter. Exactly as it implies; a sole survivor of a group… likely his own family. I’ve seen this before. They’ve got nowhere to go, nobody to see… so they just wander the Wastes aimlessly, alone. Looking for nothing… or anything.”

Another long drag, and then, “After a long time; years and years, if they’re lucky enough not to be killed by bandits, they… well, go crazy. Absolutely batty. They hallucinate, more and more often as time goes by. Finally, everything just becomes like one big flashback. Something happens in their brain.”

“Wow,” breathed Neda. “And did you know someone like that, ever?”

“Yeah! Remember Richie, the man who wandered into the Garage? Remember how he thought he had finally found his Great Grandma Louis’s mansion?

“Oh yeah… Richie. I felt so bad for him. He really thought he was in a damn mansion, and we were all his maids and butlers. And how he had thought that poor Jane was actually his Grandma?! Poor, crazy guy. I had thought it was kind’ve funny at the time, but now that I think about it…”

She paused, and then said, “What happened to him again?”

 “Well, one morning Larry and I found him lying on the top floor of the Garage, lying by an old motorcycle. We hadn’t found anything wrong with him; no blood, no injuries, no struggle. At least none externally. We knew exactly what had happened… he had just lost the will to live. For the Drifters, there comes a point when they realize, within their fantasy, or dream… whatever you want to call it, that none of it is real. That they’re just… lonely.”

“And it kills them,” asked Neda shyly.

“Well, yeah. They fall asleep… and they don’t wake up. I believe that that’s what happened to our friend over here,” he said solemnly, pointing with his cigarette to the corpse lying on the soft dirt.

                “Okay, but this guy’s leg is broken. Badly, too. You even said it yourself!”

                “Neda, look at what’s behind the dude. It’s the Swinging Ship ride. He might’ve jumped off of it, and landed on his leg funny. The guy’s and old man, for Chrissake! I think he crawled about as far as his body would take him, then just lied down and… died. Lost the will to live, like I said.”

                “Jumped off the Ship? It doesn’t even operate! Why would he do that?”

                Jed knew that Neda was smart enough to figure that one out... and he knew that she knew. He was fairly sure that she just liked to hear him explain things. He could live with it… because he liked to explain things. It filled the empty wasteland air with at least a little bit of rationale, something the Wasteland was seriously lacking in.

                “Well, I told you the Drifters always hallucinate at a certain point. Like a flashback, of something before the holocaust. A previous life…”

                “So you’re saying that he imagined being at the fair?”

                Good girl, he thought. Instead of saying that, he just nodded, taking another hit of his Marlboro, and coughing lightly from the expired, stale smoke.

                “Okay, I understand that, but what I don’t understand is… how is the fair still here? There hasn’t been a fair in any county since at least ‘014!”

                “Well, that’s probably exactly when it was here. It came rolling into town, and never quite rolled out. I mean, the fair is usually in August, or around there, isn’t it?

                She nodded slowly.

                He continued, “Well, wasn’t it in late August of ‘014 when the L.A bombs hit?”

                “Yeah, huh?”

                “Yup.”

 

                He pressed the little red record button on his recorder, and said, “Okay, I think we’ve got it. It was another wasteland drifter, having another Drifter Flashback. For more on those, see previous recording entitled, “Richie on the Roof, recorded on January 25^th, 2042 A.H. Anyways, we believe this man had been hallucinating that he was at a pre-holocaust annual fair, and that he had been wandering the grounds, perhaps imagining riding the rides, maybe even carrying out conversations. This theory is basically set in stone with the fact that he is lying in front of the Swinging Ship, which tells us that his “Realization” may have ended at that point, and that he may have jumped off the end of the Ship, landing in such a position that rendered his leg broken. For more on the “Realization” of Wasteland Drifters, see previously mentioned recording. But anyhow, the man may have, from there, crawled as far as he could on the dirt, before he had no remaining strength. After a few moments, he may have fallen unconscious, losing the will to live, and never waking back up.”

                He hit pause, and took the longest, heaving drag yet, finishing the old thing off. The rotting smoke caressed his lungs sadistically, burning and biting at it settled. He deserved that last one, after all he had just said. He flicked the butt into the dirt.

                “Jesus,” whispered Neda sadly. “Can you blame them? I would lose the will to live too. After all those years… alone.”

                “Yeah,” said Jed, “It’s sad. It’s a sad world, though. Nothing we can do.”

                True enough, true enough. Hideous sorrow drained though his body as pity for the man overwhelmed him. He could just imagine the man, wandering the grounds, imagining the crowds and crowds of friendly people, something unheard of these days in the Wastes. He could picture the man climbing on old, broken rides and actually thinking that they were moving, operating. He could even imagine the man eating the old, rotten fair-food, thinking that he was ordering fresh, sugary fair-food.

                “The poor dude probably thought he was with his family, that they were all still alive.”

                “Jed, can we please get back to the Garage? I don’t like this place.”

                “Hold on, babe. I just gotta finish my recording.”

                She squinted her eyes angrily at him, but before she could protest, he hit record and began to speak into the little black microphone.

                “Okay, so… I could be wrong about all of this. In the Wastes, you can’t really be sure of anything. Well, Neda and I are gonna head back to the Garage now. We’ve scavenged all we can for today, and today was our day. We’ve gone twice this week, since we missed our Scavenge day last week due to Neda having the flu. What I mean is: I can’t wait to get the hell home. Well, this is Jed Wilson, as you know, and this was another Record of the Wasteland.”

                He hit the stop button, and stuffed the little voice recorder into his coat pocket.

                “Can we please get the hell out of this place, Jed?” moaned Neda.

                “Calm down, babe!”

                “I don’t wanna calm down, I want to leave!”

                “Okay, okay! What’s up your a*s?”

                “Nothing, but your gonna have a boot up yours in a second!”

                Jed laughed, then walked up to Neda and put an arm around her.

                “Okay, I’m sorry. I understand. It’s getting dark, and the bandits are gonna show up soon. I hear you. Let’s get outta here.

                Neda ran a hand through her blond, grimy hair. She laid her head on the shoulder of Jed’s filthy, brown long-coat.

                “Thank you.”

                “Oh! What should I call this record? How about, ‘Alone at the Fair’?

                “I don’t care, Jed. I wish you would stop with this whole recording thing.”

                He sighed patiently and said, “What? Why’s that?”

                “It’s depressing! I don’t want to be reminded of the things I see and hear in this disgusting, vile place.”

                “Well, I see your point, I really do, but-“

                “And the little names you use! I mean, for Pete’s sakes, ‘Richie on the Roof’? How cheesy is that?”

                Jed chuckled hoarsely. “You know, someday, when this country rebuilds itself, and people find this series of ‘cheesy’ recordings, we’ll go down in history. We’ll be in the textbooks, babe!”

                “Do you hear yourself, Jed? ‘When this country rebuilds itself’? Honestly, I don’t really see that happening.”

                He shook his head in defeat. “Yeah, me neither. But even so, if the next civilization… what ever that might mean, stumbles upon it, we’ll really become famous. We’ll be just like Adam and Eve, only without the terrible sin part.”

                “I’m gonna sin terribly if we don’t just leave already!”

                He smiled. “Let’s go then.”

                She smiled too, and they began to walk the way they came, towards the Garage.

               

                Jed took his arm off his wife’s shoulder, and grabbed her hand instead. Well, not technically his “wife”, but did it really matter? They loved each other, and love was the rarest thing you could find in the Wasteland. That was the one thing they never had to scavenge for. They hadn’t been legally married by a real priest (good luck finding one of those), so they had been pronounced husband and wife by the next closest thing: an ex-convict that lived in the Garage who just so happened to own one of the few remaining Bibles that had survived the Holocaust.

                They had gotten “married” five years after the L.A bombs, but only after they had firmly established a fortified camp where they could live safely; a massive parking garage in down-town Portland, hence the name, the “Garage”. It was fortified with whatever Jed, Neda, and the other one-hundred and fifty taking refuge there could scavenge; scrap metal from the train depot, CDX ply-wood, old bricks, and massive sheets of steel from the nearby industrial zone.

 

                They would have to hurry back to the Garage, since it was already starting to get dark. The bandits usually didn’t leave their own camps until around 9:00 or 10:00, but Jed didn’t want to take any chances. His beat up motorcycle was parked about thirty yards away from the main entrance of the fair grounds, and from there it would take them about thirty-five minutes to drive back to the Garage.

                We’ll be fine, Jed thought assuringly, as he turned back to look at the corpse one more time. Poor, poor guy, drifting by himself… so many years. Jed hated being lonely, hated it more than anything on the planet. Even just for five minutes, he couldn’t stand it. So imagine being alone for twenty, maybe thirty years!

                “That s**t would drive me crazy,” he whispered.

                “What would?”

                “Being alone for so long.”

                She smiled softly, and said, “Well, you won’t be. I promise.”

               

So, hand in hand, they left Ernest and his fair behind, left him alone, as he was always meant to be. At one point, Jed had misspoken. Ernest hadn’t been imagining being with his family, because he had never had one. Even before the Great Holocaust, he had been alone, and even in his Drifters Fantasy, he had still been alone. Alone, as he had always known, and had always hated. He hadn’t ever known of a place called the Wasteland, because his dreary cloud of loneliness had blocked out his view. The only Wasteland he knew of was in his mind… and even then he had reached a point where he was unaware. That point was called the fair, his only real memory, the closest thing to joy… and the closest thing to a friend. It was called the Ring of Fire, the Haunted House, the Spider, the Tilt-A-Whirl, the Bumper Cars, the Ferris Wheel, and, most of all… the Viking Ship.

 

                As for Jed, he may have been living in lonely times, in the lonely Wasteland, and in a lonesome world… but he was happy. He had somebody, and he would until his dying day. When she would go, he would go… and when he went, she would too. That’s how it would work, because they were all the other had in those lonesome times.

                He may have been living in a lonesome world, but he sure as hell wasn’t lonely. And neither was Ernest, now that his cloud was gone forever, moved on to the next lonesome Drifter, ready to guide him to his own fair… and to his own Viking Ship…

 

               

 

 

 

 

 

The End?

Reviews

[Matt Pellegrini]

"Hell, maybe they assumed he had had a small goat," With livestock being the last noun, "they" actually indicates toward livestock thinking he had a potential blue-ribbon winner while I assume you meant for the cattle drivers to think that.

Love "Swinging Ships." That ride was always my favorite at fairs and carnivals as well. Just for a random piece of trivia, the one that typically came around where I lived was Egyptian themed and called the Pharaoh's Fury. Just something interesting I thought I'd let you know.

But while you could've said his favorite ride was the Viking Ship and left it at that, you went into the details of why it was the BEST ride. I think I just loved that you did it because how often in writing do carnival rides get any kind of analysis. The building, the hang time for the ride, was right on too. Great section.

"He avoided that as much as he could. He much as was possible." I think you want "As," in place of the "He," that starts the second sentence.

"And then there were the couple’s." No apostrophe here.

"Who knew if the fair would come back?" This line and variations have been repeated a few times. I'm wondering at this point if this is going to be some kind of theme, or if it has less of a literal meaning. The same can be said for finally getting to the fair. He was at the fair. Sentences like that. I felt they were repeated a few times. No problem with it, I'm just trying to determine if there's some subtle or subtextual meaning behind these at this point.

Age of Ernest? I don't know it, but I'm not sure if I care. He's obviously in his 20s at least, being sort of a generation separated from the teen girls, but I wouldn't put him in his 40s.

"After that, Ernest towards toward the exit, and left the Ring," typo here with towards toward.

Curious about the man on the phone in line that got a bottle of water. Part of me thinks he'll be making a return.

You've captured fairs again so perfectly with the elephant ear. Fair smells and images and tastes are extremely nostalgic, because they occur in such a unique setting.

Haha, the bumper car analysis is pretty good. I definitely agree. Never been a fan of bumper cars and they're really only fun if you're with a big group, otherwise it probably does tend to be awkward.

Strangers? The story picks up a bit in its vibe of creepiness. You've definitely set Ernest out on an island. Isolated, alone. Not a part of a couple. Not with friends. But surrounded by strangers.

I can't say for sure if it was intentional, but the comparison of waiting in line for a haunted house ride, one that's typically not scary but supposed to induce fear, against the delinquent kids that induce a real fear in some kids is an awesome mirror.

"and pushed Tad forcefully into Darrel. Darrel fell back, gasped, and began to whimper." Darren's name changes to Darrel here.

Is Ernest really there? He's yet to have been acknowledged by anybody. The first time he finally spoke, the stranger only addressed the kid. Wondering if perhaps Ernest is dead, in some kind of purgatory, some kind of ghost of the fair. Maybe as a kid he died on the ship? Well, I guess the man that gave him the ticket and the man that sold him the elephant ear spoke to him, so this is probably an incorrect speculation. But still, there's something up here haha.

"Or like being trapped in the bottom of a sinking freighter." Sinking freighter. Swinging ship? Connections?

Your descriptions of groups of kids is spot on. Fords over Chevys...perfect. Seriously.

The Ferris Wheel scene, loneliness, only seeing half, and the couple in the car are all done fantastically. Says all it needs to say and without saying it too much.

"Still sitting on that same bench was the lad he had tried to talk to earlier," lad should be lady.

"They wee gracefully, but nervously holding hands." Not sure what happened here.

"which would no-doubt make him slip. He couldn’t slip. Not while this close…." This "slip" has been used a few times also. A term to describe going back to being dead. Does Ernest get this one time each year when the fair comes back to finally get closure. Ride the ship and not die? Some of my thoughts might end up seeming really ridiculous if this is way off, so sorry ahead of time, just in case.

I didn't mind the post-apocalyptic ending to this story, but the carnival story with Ernest is really the strongest and best portion. In fact, while the second part does wrap up all the loose ends with what's really going on, aside from that, I really think the two stories almost deserve to stand alone. Obviously the Wasteland, Jed, and The Garage are such a large concept that what's going on with those characters could warrant a massive story of its own. Not that I would change anything or take out the second section, it's pretty necessary for clarity purposes, but the fair story was absolutely the high point.

I do appreciate the ending though. Obviously, something about this world, the fair story is different, but I think you do a good job avoiding any cliche in the end.

Your description of the fair however, is for me, perfection. The smells. The atmosphere. The cliques of kids. The rides. The people/personalities. If I didn't know better, I would swear we had gone to the same fair and must have grown up in the same area.

I unfortunately don't think I can put into words how well I felt this story was done. I do think this is one of those stories that is either a hit with readers who share this common knowledge of fairs or sort of a miss. I've never really understood when I read a story that I didn't think was any good how people could say, I just totally connected to this, but I feel like there will be people who just don't feel that connection or tie to fairs like I might, and so I have to say, this story was something I just felt connected to, relatable. At times, I almost felt like my memories and thoughts were being read on the page.

Maybe it is just the personal connection to me that makes me think this story is so good. But in all honesty, the way you've depicted the culture of the fair, even in a sort of sci-fi world, is so accurate and so fantastic, that I can't help but think this is near the absolute pinnacle of fair/carnival stories/storytelling.

I enjoyed every minute of this longer read.