►Carousel ◄
(Around and around it goes)

You always loved riding on carousels. You remembered that as a little girl, you used to pester your mother for a dollar just so you could ride for a bit. She'd laugh and ask you when were you going to grow up, and you'd reach for the dollar in her outstretched hand, replying with a quick, "Never ever ever!" before snatching the crisp bill out of her hand and running like mad to the pretty blue carousel, with its beautiful pastel colors, shiny mirrors, flashing lights, and that circus music that always made you smile.

There was one horse that you'd always ride. It was white, with a chestnut colored mane and tail, and its face was sculpted into what seemed to be a mischievous little grin, accompanied by a set of sky blue eyes that seemed to twinkle in the spinning lights. It had a bright red saddle strapped across its back, along with a bridle the same shade, and you would go around and around and around and around, you'd finger the bridle and think about just how pretty red on white could be.

You grew up, as all children must, and barely had time for the carousel anymore, but your love for its pretty colors, bright lights, and music never faltered. Your school years passed by, and you were the ideal student – honor roll, straight A's, polite, intelligent, member of several academic teams, played several sports, and even managed to hold a place on the student council. You had everything that most teens would have killed for. You were popular, with a happy-go-lucky smile on the outside, but on the inside, you felt so empty and alone. Your friends, if you could call them that, didn't care about you. As long as you were there to listen to them complain about who's dating who, who wore what, and give them sympathy when someone else wore the same outfit they had on, they really didn't care what happened to you.

You really weren't that surprised when no one noticed the pale, pretty scars that adorned your tan arms, or why no one noticed when you stopped eating, began failing classes that you had worked so hard to be placed in, and started popping pills at lunch just for a quick fix. You were spiraling out of control, and no one cared so much as to even offer you a lifeline.

Senior year began, and you swore that things would be different. You were going to change, go back to how you used to be. If no one would save you, you'd save yourself. Things were going smoothly, and you even managed to get a boyfriend. His name was Sora, and he knew all about what you had gone through, because he'd been there himself. You finally felt like you had someone to lean on, and it was great having someone to talk to who knew what it was like and how you were feeling. He was the perfect guy, and you thought you had found your fairytale. Silly you. You had forgotten that not all fairytales have happy endings.

You and Sora had been dating for five months, and when he asked you to meet him at the carousel at six o'clock that Saturday evening, you were ecstatic. It was your anniversary, and he knew how much you loved carousels. You couldn't wait until the weekend, and when Saturday came, you were hardly able to contain your excitement.

At five-thirty, you rushed to the amusement park and picked your way through a very large crowd. You thought that the amount of people crowding around was odd because since the roller coaster had been built, hardly anyone came to ride the carousel now. You dismissed the crowd from your mind. Glancing at your watch, you saw that it was six-fifteen, and all these people had made you late. You remembered hoping that Sora wasn't angry at you for being late. It wasn't your fault, really.

You elbowed your way through the crowd surrounding the carousel, thinking that he must have planned something absolutely amazing for your anniversary. Why else would everyone be crowding around in quiet excitement? You finally made it to the front of the group and couldn't believe what you saw. The police were there, there was a body lying on the ground, upper half covered, and you got this sick feeling in the pit of your stomach when you saw that it was wearing the same kind of sneakers that Sora always wore. You asked someone what happened, and when they told you that he hung himself on the carousel, all you could do was cry.

There was an awkward silence at school after that. Your former friends shun you again, and the glares you got as you walked down the hallway were full of hate of suspicion. Everyone thought you were somehow responsible for Sora's death, but you didn't care anymore. A part of you was dead and gone, and the only thing you could even say was, "Why?"

You stayed away from carousels after that. You didn't care about the colors, lights, or sounds anymore. You'd gone back to your old ways, and you couldn't have been happier. You'd discovered that with just the right amount of pills and booze, you could spin around and around and around, mimicking the effect of your precious carousel. It was during one of these "trips" that a few of your new friends and you decided to sneak into the amusement park and hotwire a few rides for a late-night thrill. Of course, you thought about the carousel with its pretty colors and your favorite horse. You hadn't been in so long, and you had enough in your system to completely forget about Sora, so you agreed. As soon as you arrived and climbed the fence, you raced like a little kid to the carousel, found your favorite horse (its paint had chipped and faded a little, but it was still beautiful), and slurred to your friends to turn it on.

After messing with the wires a little, the lights came on, the music began, and you began to move up and down, spinning around and around. You told them to make it go faster; as the speed increased, everything became a blur, and you just laughed and laughed as everything went faster and faster still. You didn't even see the wire as it snapped back across the carousel's stage and danced its deadly dance, cutting your face, throat, chest, and arms. Everything suddenly stopped spinning, and with a sick sliding sound, you slipped off of your horse and landed in a pile on the floor. You could hear your friends frantically running away, and one of them crying out, "Oh shit! What do we do?" You managed to raise one bloody hand and place it on your horse, only to have it slip off, leaving a bloody and smeared handprint on the horse's white side. As a feeling of sleep embraced you and washed away the pain, your last thought was that you'd forgotten just how pretty red on white could be.

♫ Author's Note ♪
Inspired by Placebo's "♫ Running Up That Hill ♫," which is weird, because what I've written has nothing to do with the lyrics.

I feel pretty proud of this one. This is unbeta'd, so any mistakes are completely mine. I'd be willing to bet that there are some errors with the verbs, so if you see any, please, do point them out. ☺