The Greatest Myths, Legends, Fables, Fairy Tales, & Short Stories Ever Told.

Merry Go Round

I wake on the back of a beast, careening violently, mechanically forward. All I can do is hold on. I am stunned by flashing lights, bewildered by blaring noise, tormented by the distressing excess of it all. What is this place? Who am I? Why am I here? I look to my left and see a looking glass. Seemingly trapped inside is a figure that mirrors my every movement. Clinging arms, straddling legs, tense body and neck, and a head affixed with wild eyes, and gasping mouth. . .

Up and down, up and down, forward and forward I go, spinning on this beast, hurtling through ridiculous chaos. Eventually I steady myself astride that great kicking beast. I crane my head to look around. I am surrounded by countless figures of so many shapes, sizes, colors, and ages. Each rides a unique beast—ferocious, bizarre, and comical creatures. This heaving mass of persons shows an array of dispositions. Some faces express fear, others sadness. Others are bored while others appear plain dead. Still, others smile joyfully and some even laugh with great cheer.

Meanwhile, certain persons are commanding attention. They put on a show for those who will watch. Others attempt similar ends by ordering people to think and carry out particular deeds. These performances feel bizarre.

Again I wonder, What is this place?

I look out past the sea of people. There is only darkness. If the light were to touch upon that darkness, would anything be revealed? Or is there only an indifferent abyss? Is there nothing other than this spinning world? Confusion floods. Then fear, doubt, wonder, curiosity, frustration. . . I vacillate between a rolodex of emotions. All the while rushing forward through this wild flashing world.

Up and down, up and down, forward and forward, I go spinning on this beast. When will this end? I'm carried in an endless circle, on and on, without any sign of slowing down. In fact, the world seems to be ever ratcheting up. The noise becomes louder, cacophonous, disorienting. The lights flash brighter, startling past awe and straight to stupefaction. The people seem to get worse. They curdle and wilt before my eyes. Some are falling from their beasts, some immobilized. Others appear in their places, much younger, much smaller, crying, screaming. Distrust begins to permeate the air. Blame sloshes about like a horrid acrid toxin. Bitter shouting and wrongful accusations. Arguments about the most trivial of things. Shouting about what noise is greatest, who rides their beast best, who is most beautiful, whether the colors of the lights are important or not. . . Others argue about who should lead the people and their creatures. Still others argue about what this world is and who is controlling it, whether or not this machine world has meaning or a grand purpose. Anything, it seems, to stoke the malevolence igniting through the air.

All the while, some people remain enraptured only with the mirror. They do not cast their attention on anything but their own reflections.

Up and down, up and down, forward and forward, I go spinning on this beast. At some point, I look up, perhaps hoping vaguely for reprieve, to behold something other than this miserable spinning repetitious life. To my disappointment and dismay, I find another large reflecting glass, showing the same frantic group from a different angle. Time passes and passes. The ride won't end. I am growing restless and bored with this machine world. I close my eyes frequently from exhaustion tinged with the hope that I will awaken somewhere beyond here. To my chagrin, I always awaken back in this machine world, still astride this great beast.

But when I close my eyes, the places I experience are far different from this wretched machine world. I am not riding this great beast, nor spinning in endless circles. What I experience is beyond description. Ineffably glorious worlds, where I feel and think differently. A place of endless possibilities, a place of life and color. A place I wish I could remain, but to my grim dismay, I always end up back in this machine world, increasingly despondent. My spirit growing stifled and weak. My despair turns to apathy, like a peach once too fresh and sour, now too soft, inert, slowly over-ripening. My dreams flicker behind my eyes, my only remaining hope. My grip on my beast is limp, and so slackens my once bright hope that this world might have some great purpose and incredible meaning. The last glittering scales fall and my naked eyes cringe at the utter absurdity of it all.

Up and down, up and down, forward and forward, I go spinning on this beast. Then suddenly, a light shines past the sea of people. It flashes into the darkness. A fire bursts in my bosom. My body alights with a warm growing sense that this is the moment all my days have been leading up to. Finally I will understand. Finally the meaning will be made clear. A clue has been gifted, a divine clue. My eyes trace that path of light and my heart flutters, buoyant like a child's. Then just as instantly as it was lifted, it drops. My heart drops down and down like a stone to the bottom of a murky lake. To my utter horror, illuminated within that dense void is yet another looking glass, reflecting the horror of my countenance crowded by all the others. I cry out in errant despair. Forced to reflect. Whether I look inward or outward, it is only a reflection shining back. I find myself longing for death. My hope and will have been extinguished in that great murkiness within, the one that swallowed my heart in all its thoughtless hunger.

Up and down, up and down, forward and forward I go spinning on this beast that will not stop pushing, pressing on and on. I no longer track the moments passed, though it seems a great many, for my reflection is now one of grossly apparent fatigue. My physical form appears listless and frail, empty of that original essence from when I first gazed upon it. I have seen many fellow beings fall off their beasts when they reach this stage of physical appearance.

I feel a sharp pain in my chest. I clutch. My mind feels stretched. All those worlds that linger behind my eyes appear more vivid, more visceral than ever. I feel relief. Lightness. Sweet. A welcomed peace envelops me. I'm home. I think that finally this time I will not awaken miserably in that machine world. Finally I am free. . .

Have I been freed? Is that nightmarish world a thing of the past? Can this truly be? My pleas and wishes finally granted? I make grand declamations of gratitude. My soul weeps and laughs and shines to the heavens—

Suddenly, a colossal, shapeless, kaleidoscopic being appears before me. Its voice, infinite times louder than the most boisterous noise in that machine world. Its brightness, infinite times brighter than the brightest lights I've ever known. I throw myself down in subjection and fear. I plead for this being not to harm me.

It bellows out a maniacal laugh. I am filled with such loathing and disgust as I register its perverse pleasure in causing me fear. Whatever this thing is, I know it is unfriendly. I feel a creeping sense that I have invaded its dwelling place. I, an oblivious prey animal, sauntering into the den of a monster, for a moment thinking it has found safety, only to naively stretch out on the plate of something terribly ravenous and hellishly cruel. That amorphous, ethereal being approaches me, and then wraps itself around me, feeling as if I am being consumed by it. My body grows so searingly cold. Like a blazing icy fire consuming from flesh to core. I cry out for salvation, and then. . . darkness. Everything is blank.

An unmeasured space of time.

And then I become dimly aware. My consciousness rolls. I awaken from what seemed like a lucid dream turned nightmare. I look around and find myself on the back of a great beast, though this one differs from the one I am used to. My mind continues to rattle, confounded and disoriented. I try to get my wits back. I grip the beast tightly as I turn to the center reflection. To my absolute horror, the face staring back is vastly different than the one I have known.

I am overcome by the terrifying realization that I am destined to ride some great beast on this spinning machine for an untold number of lives. I feel no prospect of escape. Forced to live in this disorienting, overstimulating, perverse machine world, constantly spinning around and around, without end and with little alterations. I cry out in desperate despair. My screams, primordial and beastly in nature, fall on deaf divine ears. There is no one saving me, there is no great salvation, perhaps there isn't a loving deity out there. Perhaps what exists in those other-worldly dimensional spaces are only mesmerizingly terrifying predators looking to devour us after we have had our time on this disorienting ride.

Up and down, up and down, forward and forward I go spinning on this new beast of mine. Perhaps I can evade that demonic entity when this life ends and be free from this prison? Perhaps. It is the only hope that I can maintain. It may be a silly hope, but what else do I have? If I do not have this hope then all I have before me is an endless prison, forced to reflect on my existence and appearance.

What am I? Who am I? What is this place? Why am I here? Is there another world? Will this ride ever end?

The End.