October 27, 2010
By Rebecca Storey BRONZE, Hooper, Colorado
Rebecca Storey BRONZE, Hooper, Colorado
1 article 0 photos 0 comments

We used to go here every week of the summer, just Gracie and me.
It was our oasis from the world, our secret hideaway, just ours this was our favorite place to be.
That was before; it turned into nothing but rubble and ashes, before everything turned completely black
It looks just as I remember, roller coaster rides midway through their routines, half eaten hot dogs scattered around on table tops,
My hands start to sweat, my heart beat speeds up rapidly, and my stomach drops
It looks like someone had thrown a black velvet blanket over the entire theme park, with stands that sell souvenirs and snacks.

July 26th

I am stepping on shadows of shattered lives with every step I take.
I can see exactly what they were doing three years ago, I see couples holding hands, mothers urging their young children to keep up, and teenagers standing around laughing, and I hope they were having a good time for their sake.
After all it was their last moment on this earth, and this thought just makes my heart rate speed up again, and my breathing goes about a hundred times faster
The happiest place on earth was blown up with a nuclear bomb, on the bustiest day of the year.
I wonder how they all looked when I made that announcement, probably just like clueless deer.
This image makes my senses keener, I can hear my heartbeat in my ears, my entire body is tingling; like the bubbles in a carbonated soda, I feel stronger, like I have control and no one or nothing is going to get in my way; maybe I should be called master.

I look over my head and I noticed that the moon had finally decided to show its face.
It made the fog around me illuminate, and shimmer in the nighttime, and I speed up my pace.
I run faster and faster until I see it, the carousel, it is somehow is going, still moving, still playing that creepy children’s song.
The horses and carriages go round and round slowly but steady; I stand there waiting for that special horse.
It was Gracie’s favorite, pure white with golden reins, and glossy black hooves that somehow survived the explosion, and I feel a slight pang of remorse.
Every time I see that horse I am remind of that choice, the one that was wrong.

But she is my only regret, Gracie was the best little sister anyone could ask for,
She covered for me when I was late to curfew or when I wanted to sneak out, and she entertained me when I got bored.
She and I rarely fought and when she was around my parents would go easy on me for whatever trouble I had was in.
Gracie was the kind of person that when she walked into a room it seemed to get a little brighter.
Her smile would bring warmth to your insides, and she made the heavy layer of emotional atmosphere feel lighter.
Gracie was the peacemaker of my household, she was like an angel, and I bet that killing her was way worse than even your most deadly sin.

Gracie, Gracie, I scream at the sky, tears streaming down my cheeks, I’m sorry, help me understand, give me a sign please
I look down at the horse and I see it’s head nod just slightly, then it’s hoof moves, and I swear it just blinked, am I being teased?
The carousel moves faster and faster, carousel becomes a blur, all of the horses and carriages, and childish pictures are meshed together, and I don’t know what to do so I shout her name, Gracie! And suddenly the carousel stops.
I pick up the biggest metal scrap I can find and start bashing the horse with all my strength
I first go for the head cutting through it and smashing it off, then I whack the thing at random; I need to get all the anger, sadness, guilt, and rage that have been building all these years at length.
I keep hitting and destroying until there is nothing left of that horse, and even after that, the music subsides and everything goes still, I decide to ditch the remaining pieces in some near by shop.

Now I’ve killed Gracie twice, and my body reeks of adrenaline, but in a few hours it all wears off.
But only for a brief moment, do I return to my normal self, and I visit my sister’s grave, the grass feels fresh and soft.
At least in comparison to the granite headstone, that reads in loving memory of Gracie Smith
Born: March 15th, 1997
Death: July 26th.2007
Then the feeling of guilt is gone, and my urge to kill comes back
Now that I have done a second funeral, I’m ready to attack
I call myself the Big Brother, blowing up amusement parks around the world, I have never been caught…some people even dare to say that I’m a myth.

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