Amusement Parked

One day city visit. While parents shopped around, brother and I went to an amusement park.

We knew what we wanted to ride. Had to first go past bumping cars, carousels and the like in the kiddie section. When I spotted the roller coaster in the distance, we ran for it.

One of the biggest, a newscaster once said. The TV screen showed riders gripped with terror, rolling down in lightning speed, screaming all the way. Adrenaline rush for sure.

“Sorry, kiddos,” an attendant hollered. “Closed down for maintenance. Should be running in a day or two.”

We weren’t amused.

From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna writes poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction regardless of the season, although she prefers spring.

In The Spirit Of Amusement

Amusement Park. Strange name. Bet there are more unamused adults than young children. Heard Uncle Max scream. Saw him vomit on the Ferris Wheel, again. After he said he couldn’t stomach it. Cousins bashed themselves manoeuvring bumper cars. Their dads were not amused. Neither was the ride operator. Too much cotton candy caused my sweet tooth to sour at the dentist’s. We tried the Swing Carousel. I sat with Dad. The swing in front of us was empty. Would’ve been filled if the father of a toddler didn’t have a tantrum. They relocated at the merry-go-round. I preferred the Pendulum.From Guest Contributor Krystyna Fedosejevs

Krystyna is a writer of poetry, fiction, and creative nonfiction. She resides in Edmonton, Canada with her husband and stuffed animals and many friends.