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Vignettes
#2
People milled about in vague lines on the muddy field, diligently shepherded by church volunteers in orange vests; those precious orange vests which could turn even the most milquetoast burb-goers into militaristic riot cops.

The sky sagged with a grey heaviness to the north, the thunder shower having drifted out as quickly as it had struck. Beady pearls of fragrant rainwater glistened on the hundred or so cars parked in sloppy rows just beyond the dampened signage for the carnival.

"St. Grace's Summer Faire" it read, the slanted green print shouting at the steady traffic which glided past. The venerated, creaking carnival rides slowly began to grind back to life as people returned. The sun, though bleary in the western horizon, cast long shadows over the weary parents as they allowed themselves to be dragged by the cloying hands of their offspring, casting nervous but polite looks at the operators of the portable attractions.

Surely the brightly painted machines could only be missing one or two bolts, at the very most.
And, we dream of home I dream of life out of here Their dreams are small My dreams don't know fear I got my heart full of hope I will change everything No matter what I'm told How impossible it seems We did it before And we'll do it again We're indestructible Even when we're tired And we've been here before Just you and I
Don't try to rescue me I don't need to be rescued


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Vignettes - by Tearen Wover - 06-11-2016, 05:15 PM

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