The Traveler.
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Dark dust swirls, encircling the feet of a weary traveler, for he is the one always searching. It is a cool fall night, the kind that sends chills up that weary spine, all crumpled and used.
It is the last night that the lights will shine, for they will all die out soon. A wheel takes its last circle, all the exuberant qualities of it's passengers long gone, as it winds to a slow, but steady stop. The balloons are no longer being filled with air, as their remains are left lying on the ground, and scattered across make-shift walls. The lights of far above start clicking off, with loud buzzing sounds, which can clearly be heard all across the now desolate land of laughter.
The man stands there, in the midst of this scene, motionless, and empty. As everything dies around him, his heart still beats, and forever it is searching. The sky starts to rumble, the electricity flowing freely in the air above him.
A flustered boy, a boy that no longer searches, he crosses the path of the lost traveler. He holds a hand that has long been worn above his brow, shielding the little light still about this place, searching the shadows to identify the form of the lost man before him.
"Park's closed," he rumbles in his general direction, leaning into a booth that would soon be taken down, all the memories now associated with it thrown in the back of a truck, down the road. He has in his hand a broom, tattered, like the image he himself portrays.
The lost traveler looks to this broken boy, eyes wide, before gently nodding. The boy, who was in his rush to no where, takes this as a decent enough reply, and hurries off to the nothing waiting for him.
The lost traveler breathes deep, inhaling the dust of thoughts now heading off far away, the dust of a once busy place that has been drained dry of the fuel it flourished off of. He coughs, letting the grime of everyday life leave his lungs, before walking, gingerly, down the trail between abandoned game stalls.
His dark eyes, eyes of someone who has seen too much and who's vision has grown numb, stare into the dark abyss surrounding him, following what was left from the thousands of footprints who traveled this way before him. The sky continues its deep growl, rattling above him, edging him to move quicker, to leave the land of desolation behind.. but he has no where to go.
He is but a water stain on an artful masterpiece, neglected, and ignored. He is what was left of mistakes better left forgotten, and the soles of his traveling boots have grown weak with his searching.
In his quicker pace, as nature yells at his presence, he nears a small machine. It's dingy light bulbs remain luminous, small yellow streams creeping out from behind the dust. The traveler nears this game machine, pushing a weary hand against the glass, letting those empty eyes search inside for whatever treasures may be within.
Small plush toys, and a crane. A crane with long, metal fingers, ready to reach for something, and take it. Make it it's own. What a gift, thought the traveler, as he fumbles in his worn jeans for quarters. Rough hands meet the smooth, cool surface of coins, at which he anxiously pulls them out.
His hands shake as he pushes the coins into the coin slot, as carefully as he can. Blinking red lights start up, reflecting through those empty holes in his head, as a broken speaker starts to play what was once probably a cheery song. The man's leathery hands meet the handle, grasping it tightly, realizing their purpose.
The air around him is full of static, as he anxiously begins directing the crane towards the stuffed toy that looks the most easily accessible. A flicker of a smile dashes across his lips, and it seems he has finally found something. He finally has something dancing just below his fingertips, waiting for him to reach out and grab it. Waiting to be tamed and handled.
He has found something.
And as his heart starts to flutter, the earth seems to shake, as lightning and thunder reawaken the decrepit place of merriment. The crane has it's metal fingers wrapped tightly, securely, around the prize.
It is but seconds away.
The air around him starts to twist, so quickly. And in an instant, all he dreamed of is stolen.
Lightning strikes, it strikes fast, taking the electricity, draining it from the machine. The lights die off, the music ceases to play. The crane stops moving, trapped in its current place. The man stares, longingly for a moment. His prize, it was there, right before him, so close, but still so out of reach.
His hands clench, as he leans his head against the cold glass that kept his dreams trapped. He desperately battered his fist against the symbolic cage, but to no avail. He takes another deep breath, before eyeing what he so desired one last time, before taking a step back.
As hard as he tried, it seemed like everything was so close, but it would always be far away. So, so far away.
~saber
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lots of dust~~~ lucky guy, I've seen too much but my eyes are still perfectly fine. Hmmm~ I really like this so easy to relate to in whatever stuation.