Welcome to the Wakefield Doctrine (the theory of clarks, scotts and rogers)
This is the Wakefield Doctrine’s contribution to the Six Sentence Story bloghop.
Hosted by Denise the rule: Six Sentences max, some form of the prompt word min.
Prompt Word:
CAROUSEL
The August breeze ruffled the boy’s hair like a playful friend, iodine dry-seaweed scent whispered of adventure as he walked, reversed tent-pole between his parents towards the ocean.
The location of The Flying Horses, at the end of Circuit Avenue but before the ferry landing, was a perfect illustration of the difference between islanders and summer people: one lead away from the water and had a drugstore, barbershop and small grocery store in walking distance from the older, modest year ’round homes and the other opened in June and closed in September.
Stepping into the carousel, small blue ticket in hand, the boy smiled a laugh of joy at the wind inside the structure, it was as if weather was something different in the slightly-darkened interior where music blared at an unlikely volume.
Determined to triumph and make someone proud, he approached one of the outer ring of horses, (they were the only ones that moved up and down), and climbed up into the saddle before anyone could help him up; the boy sat waiting for the merry-go-round to begin it’s rotation and imagined the look on his mother’s face when he, after stacking the regular silver rings held out the prized brass ring as the ride turned it’s last revolution.
Each time the ride brought the boy to the ring-holder, he felt the pull of the leather belt securing him in the saddle of his wooden horse as a suggestion to re-calculate the angle needed to lean out towards it and each revolution found his extended hand just short of grabbing a ring, any ring, plain steel or shiny brass.
And the ride slowed, the music subsided and the boy looked at the rings that weren’t in front of him and felt embarrassed that his mother was smiling as if she was happy, even though he failed to secure the prize that would be the talk of the family dinner table for the rest of the summer.
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About clarkscottroger
Ah… the aspirations of youth! One day, he’ll realize the most precious ‘prize’ was his mother’s attention and adoring smile. I felt young and weightless as I read this!
excellent
Great six, I could imagine myself reaching for the prize.
Thank you.
Nice ending. I like the contrast between the mother’s view of reality and the child’s. She was happy but he was disappointed because he couldn’t grab what he thought was the prize.
kids can be funny, talk about showing how personal reality can be!
Xpctations…imagined and real.
I think Susan said it best :… young & weightless.
Elegiac ink.
thanks, man
Ah, they are our prize in a way, and won’t know it until they are grown.
Plus, i can see a mother being happy he tried and did not take off the strap, no matter what the temptation might have been to do so.
I tend to agree
When you’re too young to know anything else, the memories supply a prize!
that and (our) imagination
I love your opening sentence, Clark.
The Flying Horses are indeed the most wonderful of carousels.
Is (was) that not the goal of every child mounting a horse on the outermost ring of horses, to grab that brass ring?
Yes, the little boy’s reaction was in keeping with his personal reality. Childhood is not experienced in a universal manner. How much easier childhood would be if it were, lol…or would it?!