around, and around, and around. the giant platform turns seamlessly in the night, the eerie music twinkling; stolen by the delicious breeze and reverberated by the numb midnight air. she spins through the world on the back of her cool metal steed, throwing back her head and absorbing the rushing air, shaking her long golden mane down her back and finding peace. she looks giddy.
she is almost laughing.
instead of standing still as the world revolves around her, she is revolving too, she is part of the universe. she is alone, and her pale skin shines with the stars.
i want to almost laugh with her.
although it would seem that the sight of her riding the ancient abandoned carousel in the dead of night could not look more out of place, Amelia never looks more at home than here, at the very edge of her parents' acres, all but out of reach.
i watch Amelia Jones live the enviable life of supposed luxury. she is a spoiled girl of 17 living with her cold and absent parents in their stately home, built on the grounds of what was once a Victorian fairground. the only evidence of the lands' history are the marks on the ground that you can only see if you know where to look. the slight indentations and the formation of the grass show the ghosts of what once stood so majestically on the noble land. that, and the brazen carousel which stands elegantly on the border of their property, only feet away from the forest which is 'strictly no place for a little girl. you hear me Amelia?'. once it was a place of magic, of laughter, of entertainment, and of dreams. now it is a place of loneliness, of longing, and of resentment.
but the magic never left. it hangs in the air along with the past and leaks into the world almost unnoticed. everyone says that the flowers are too bright, the carousel couldn't possibly work, and the air is... sweet. someone once joked that the whole place still tastes of candyfloss.
it stuck.
she is almost laughing.
instead of standing still as the world revolves around her, she is revolving too, she is part of the universe. she is alone, and her pale skin shines with the stars.
i want to almost laugh with her.
although it would seem that the sight of her riding the ancient abandoned carousel in the dead of night could not look more out of place, Amelia never looks more at home than here, at the very edge of her parents' acres, all but out of reach.
i watch Amelia Jones live the enviable life of supposed luxury. she is a spoiled girl of 17 living with her cold and absent parents in their stately home, built on the grounds of what was once a Victorian fairground. the only evidence of the lands' history are the marks on the ground that you can only see if you know where to look. the slight indentations and the formation of the grass show the ghosts of what once stood so majestically on the noble land. that, and the brazen carousel which stands elegantly on the border of their property, only feet away from the forest which is 'strictly no place for a little girl. you hear me Amelia?'. once it was a place of magic, of laughter, of entertainment, and of dreams. now it is a place of loneliness, of longing, and of resentment.
but the magic never left. it hangs in the air along with the past and leaks into the world almost unnoticed. everyone says that the flowers are too bright, the carousel couldn't possibly work, and the air is... sweet. someone once joked that the whole place still tastes of candyfloss.
it stuck.
