Carousel Horse

Carousel
Not All Horses are Free

The white carousel horse would gaze out from its viewpoint from the center of the fair,
watching the bustle all around.  It was there that the horse would stay day after day,
spinning on the carousel with its brothers and sisters--the wolves, the does, the other
horses, the dragons.

The horse would wait there, with its head thrown back in a graceful, silent whinny, its
tail held high, for the children to come.  The gates of the fair would open, and people
would flow through like water droplets in a rushing river.  They would line up for the
rides and games--the carousel.

The children would line up for the carousel, handing the keeper their tickets and passing
through the gate with their parents.  They would pick which animal they wanted to ride--
the dragons, the wolves, the deer, the eagles, the horses.

The horse would watch enviously as the dragons were chosen first, the horses after.  A
child would climb on the horse's back and clutch the mane.  The horse would cringe a bit
when the child pulled the mane too hard.

Then, the keeper would close the gate and the carousel would come to life, spinning, spinning, around and around to the music, enough to make even the strongest dizzy.  The children would laugh and scream as the world flashed by them like a picture show.

Parents would take pictures of their children.  The children would grin from ear to ear and the parents would snap a picture, the flash blinding the horse for a moment.  Click, flash. Click, flash.  The horse would cringe every time it heard the click, anticipating the brigh flash, wishing it could close its eyes.

Then the carousel would slow to a halt, the music fading away, and the children would climb down from the animals.  Some were sad to leave, frowning like the eagle next to the white horse.  Some were happy, excited to go see the other wonders of the carnival.  All of them would pass through the gate again and go on their merry ways, their pockets a few dollars lighter and their day a little bit brighter.

Then the next group of children would get on the carousel.  The dragons would be picked first, then a child would climb on the horse, pulling its mane just a bit too hard, and the horse would feel the fibers pulling loose in the child's hands.  The carousel would begin to turn again, coming to life, and giving the children a ride.

The sky would fall dark and the line of children would shorten to nothing more than a trickle.  The horse was often left without a rider at night, so it learned to associate night with sadness.

When the clock struck ten, the carnival would close.  All the lights and music would shut off and all the people would leave--even the keepers.  In the darkness, the horse would rest, dreaming of herds of horses, prancing, frolicking, free.

But when the sun rose, the horse woke, torn from its dreams like a baby from its mother's arms.  Paralyzed, the horse would remember where it was, the golden rod a stake through its heart.  The horse would remember it was a bird in a cage.

The next day would come, and the next, and the next.  The children came and went, but the horse remained with its brothers and sisters, trapped in the carousel, unable to move except when the wind caught the roses interwoven in its mane.

After a while, the fair would move.  The fair would be taken apart and packed in a truck, and the horse would find itself in a different place.

No matter where the carousel horse was, rain or shine, day or night, it would always remember one thing:  Not all horses are free.