Dust to Dust

Dust to dust.

The third time they came around I knew that something was wrong. That’s a ridiculous statement really, the second I saw them I knew, but the roundabout was going so fast and there were people in front of me all pushing and shoving.

I was waving like a lunatic, waiting for them to wave back. They were still smiling, but I could see that the hysterical laughter had dried up. Why did I just stand there, waving like a fool as the carousel went round and round … well, I only had a five second snapshot of them as they went passed me. The roundabout was going very fast for one of those horsey things and it seemed to be continually picking up speed. The first time they flew by was just an inkling that things weren’t right, you know that feeling that you get somewhere deep inside, but it takes time to rise to the surface of conscious thought and make itself heard.

And they were blurred. By the time my eyes had identified them, caught up with them and tracked them as they made the revolution, they were gone again.

They didn’t seem to be hanging on anymore. Were they?

And gone.

They were just sitting stiffly upright, lightly holding the reigns. Were they?

And gone.

In the end, on that third revolution, it was their smiles that did it. They weren’t natural; they looked fixed, painted, just like the horse’s expression. Were They?

And Gone.

And then I was screaming. “Stop the ride. Stop the ride. My children. There’s something wrong with my children.” I was pushing, heaving people out of the way to get through.

“Hey, lady.”

I was at the front. “Stop the ride. Stop the ride.” I couldn’t see the children now, I was too close, my focus too blurred. I tried to get the operator’s attention but the flying horses were in the way. Desperately I made a lunge for one of them. I felt the reins in my hand, my feet were being pulled along I wanted to jump onto the running board and get to my babies.

I was flung to the ground, my arm wrenched from its shoulder socket and broken. I wasn’t unconscious but I was dazed. I couldn’t get up. People were fussing around me. The ride was slowing. Somebody was on a mobile phone ringing for an ambulance.

The ride was stopping.

“My Children, “ I sobbed through the pain.

Children were getting off the ride, running happily back to their parents, screeching and yelling and flushed with excitement. Carrie and Glen just sat there…smiling.

Ignoring pleas to ‘lie still’ and to ‘rest’ I pushed myself to my feet. People were looking at my children, muttering to one another.

“Well, were they there before? I never noticed them.”

“Good aren’t they.”

“Bit daft if you ask me, it’s two wasted horses aint it?”

I was disoriented. The pain was excruciating. I stumbled over to the children, grabbing onto the carousel horses for support. The operator was moving towards them too, he looked puzzled.

I reached out to touch Glen. He looked so wooden .. so ..false.

My finger made contact with what used to be his skin.

He desiccated in front of my eyes. My little boy exploded in a shower of sawdust and became a sprinkled heap at my feet. The man was reaching for Carrie. She exploded and turned into dust.

I fainted then.

I was on a stretcher. There wasn’t a human sound. Even the two paramedics carrying me were staring into the sky open mouthed.

A craft three times larger than the Carousel was gaining height as it rose over the fairground. I couldn’t say if it was metallic or of some other material. But the colour was one that I will never forget, and yet can’t remember. It wasn’t just an odd shade of puce, or magenta or indigo. It was a completely new colour. It was primary, basic, elemental but I cannot describe it. How do you describe a colour if you’ve never seen it before? The craft hovered for a minute or more and then shot off into the sky.

“My children,” I murmured weakly, “they’ve taken my children.”