Journal 7/7/10

In the summer of 1916 the workers of a lumberjacking company were cutting down a forest in Pennsylvania. There it was discovered that a large carrousel had been hidden deeply in the woods for many years. It had intricately carved horses that hung by chains from the roof that was spun by the pulling of a large mule, beautiful hand-painted details on the inner wall that depicted the lovely countryside as well as the faces of young ladies, and no floor. The way the carrousel was run and the way the roof was overgrown with weeds said that it was built in the mid 18th century, but the horses looked as if they had been recently restored with fresh paint and not a speck of wood rot. Furthermore, why was it in the middle of a forest?

In 1920, an amusement park had started to be built around this mysterious carrousel, appropriately named "Mystery Park," due to the circumstances that surround the original rides origins. By the late 20th century the park had been modernized. It had electronically advanced rides and large steel coasters. Even the old carrousel had been given an engine and no longer needed to be pulled by mule. Now, in the 21st century, the origins of this ride still remain a mystery, and not the only one. The park opens at 6:00 and closes at 7:00. What kind of place closes so early?

All I know is, the workers act really weird around closing time. They completely force everyone to get out A.S.A.P. They look all nervous, anxious or whatever. By 8:00, they're all gone, too. The funny, thing is, closing and opening time never change, not even after daylight savings. They actually just adjust the schedule so technically they are starting at a different time, but physically it is the same. It's as if they are afraid of what happens at dark. Weird, right?

-Fin

I closed down the electronic journal and stood up from my space on the park bench. Mystery Park, that is. Finally finished with my personal analysis of this place, I could go on some rides. Not the carrousel, of course. That thing freaked me out. Carrousels are supposed to have horses that go up and down really slow in a circle, not go around flying on chains like on the Wave-Swinger. Plus, the legend behind it is kind of creepy. This will definitely be a good enough story to put on the school Blog.

"Come on, Mickey!" I shouted to my little brother. "It's time to go!" He stepped out of the Little Scrambler's exit gate, all shaken up.

"Oh, can I go on one morw time?" he pleaded. I rolled my eyes.

"No, I want to hit the Expedition before this crap-hole closes," I said as I looked around. He pouted.

"Mommy said you's not 'lowed to say cwap," he stated firmly. While, as firm as any seven year old can be. I shouldn't have taken him along with me.

"Well, she's not gonna know, so there." I stuck my tongue out at him. Pretty immature for a thirteen year old.

"I'lls has ta' telw her." He stuck his tongue out back. I grabbed his wrist and twisted it. His face scrunched up and he squealed.

"Ow, Owwww! Yours hurtin' me!" he shouted as he tried to break free. I just laughed.

"Baby. Now, gonna say anything to Mom?" I asked, my voice getting higher.

"Na-uh," he said as he shook his head side to side. I let go, and he immediately started rubbing his wrist.

"Good brat. I might just think about buying you ice cream," I lied. I'd never do that, but still, at the sound of "ice cream" his face lit up. It struck the small heart I have for my little brother, and I decided I would maybe buy him a small soft serve. In a cup. Don't want him to be too happy.

For the rest of the day, or hour, actually, I stood waiting in line at the Expedition, a roller coaster and possibly the only good ride here. Due to my growth condition, I could pass as a young adult, which meant no responsible adult rider had to keep watch over me on the rides with age limits. Don't worry, I can also pass the height limits.

I basically was about six-foot-two, and had over-active levels of estrogen, if you know what I mean. Sad part was, I would never really stop growing, but it wasn't as bad as others had it, I grew slower. I'd probably die at about ten feet, add or subtract a few inches. The only weird part was, my voice didn't change, so I sounded like one of those cartoon giants that look all scary and roar really loud, but have squeaky voices. My friends called me the Eighth Wonder of the World. My little brother called me Godzilla. My parents called me Belinda. I called me Bell.

Anyway, when it finally became my turn to ride, along with about twenty over-anxious people and Mickey, it was five to seven, which meant closing time. This would be the last ride of the day. Lucky me.

While trying to get my wind-blown hair to stick to my head after getting off the Expedition, a hand grabbed my shoulder and began to push forward. I turned around and pulled away.

"What the hell?" I loudly asked to the nervous employee.

"Time to go. Almost closing time, Miss," he said. I jerked further away and turned around, ignoring him. Sometimes I wish I could stay past closing time and see just what happens here after dark.

That's it! Why not just stay here? A look of realization came onto my face as I thought of a way to stay here without getting caught.

"Next time one of you touches me, I'm suing for sexual assault."