This is a work in progress. I've already done several other fixed versions of this and I will up date them as soon as possible so you can see the work evolve and tell me what you think. Please review. Much love. P.S. I know it sucks but hey, it's a first rough draft. And yes, it will probably suck just as bad in the finished version.

Innocence

An orange waning moon bathed the mushroom rings in an unholy luminance. Sprouting amongst the roots of trees and struggling through the rocky soil they grew crooked, yet in every circle they all grew in the same unnatural direction. Brown and blue-white tops flowered out to underbellies of cream and ridges.

Trees of ash and birch and oak and rowan stood guard over the space over which the mushrooms had overrun with their fleshy, meaty tops. They ringed out to thirteen layers, spaced at the exact same width from one another and in patterned kinds. Leaves glowed faintly silver around the edges and were flipped upside-down holding liquid in their bowl-like shape like hands cupped, blood and thorns pouring steadily towards the ground from the spout ended leaves. Yet they never soaked into the earth, disappearing long before then, never to leave a print, never to whisper a note of sound. Branches drooped solemnly, like a weary mans hunched shoulders against the wind. Bark grew upwards like jagged teeth ready to catch their prey, threaded through, black, brown, red, veins lacing through and up the trunks that grew as straight and ridged as iron arrows.

Stiff dead grasses grew up around the roots of the trees and around the mushrooms spongy stems, choking by strangulation as murderess weeds strangled their roots of all innocence.

The merry-go-round stood solemnly in the center of the clearing. The middle paneling was made of glass with rotating panels of wood painted with circus scenes. A lion tamer, whip up held, wooden chair held out guardingly in front of himself, jabbing at a roaring lion, jaw gaping open, pointed dagger teeth looked sharp enough to easily break through both chair and tamer. He looked as if he was perpetually caught in a roar. Or maybe it was a yawn. Green fake emeralds had been placed on his for his eyes. One had been cracked and only a jagged piece remained, taking up half of his empty socket. Eyes faded and covered in grime, pained scenes faded and chipped, but never having lost that magical childhood quality that promised the wind blowing through hair and the world being made able to do anything your imagination held.

Children sat atop horses and unicorns caught in mid tramp, some with hooves up raised or extended, and some half reared. The little children had faces of alabaster and bronze. They sat smiling and unmoving. The boys had slicked back hair while the girl’s had braids hanging down to mid back or ringlets curling about their faces. Hair auburn and blond and black shone silkily in the moonlight. Their faces were frozen, not a hair out of place, teeth straight and perfect. Eyes shone with childhood innocence as all colors glinted in the reflective light. Cheeks had perfect circles of rosy red that stood out strikingly against their opaque skin.

The young boys sat, feet dangling above the stirrups. They wore old fashion knickers that reached just below the knees with leather shoes and socks that disappeared underneath the pants. Shirts were loose around the chest and shoulders but were tied by strings around the wrists. The little girls were dressed in knee length dresses printed with many colored flowers which moved slowly about their legs in the nonexistent breeze. Little shoes peeked up from across the horses broad sides

They all say firmly in the horses saddles, but they were turned and looking at each other as if they had been laughing and joking like school friends.

Gilded golden poles emerged from the horses backs. Held in a loose grip that would keep them balanced as the horses moved up and down with the carnival music, they stood frozen and suspended as they were protruding into the children’s chests and out through their necks and backs. Blood covered the front of their clothing and had dripped down their legs. The blood was covering their chests and necks, innocent eyes staring at one another.

The merry-go-round began to spin slowly and the music began to pour out of the speakers embedded into the wooden overhead canopy. The children didn’t move as their horses slid up and around, no wind being created by the merry-go-round’s movement. One girl, golden curls hanging loosely around her round heart shape face, turned her head slowly. Pale paint chipped and fell to her clothing. She stared straight at the moon its orange light casting a haze. A piercing scream flew from her plastic, faded lips and flew to the moon, agony and pain and lost childhood innocence being released to the sky.

Then it was gone.