The calliope sang, and the dark child wept. The steam-powered notes taunted him through the dirt-hazed glass of the attic window, as he stared into the suburban abyss. A spinning Skittles rainbow of twinkling Ferris wheel lights teased him.
The dark child retreated to the shadows. The thick hair of his back itched against insulation. Tears fell from his red, night-glow eyes. The days were bad. The sound of passing school buses and playing children tormented him. But nothing—nothing compared to the carnival.
The joyous cries of children invaded his sensitive ears. He covered them with his hands, digging his long, sharp fingernails into the surrounding flesh. His pain could not silence the ecstasy of others. The world lived, and he died a slow, lonely death. (more…)