Rotund

Missing Mile

High up, she swung back and forth. The devilish contraption, said to be the latest success of the fair, made her blood pressure sky rocket and she was not happy. The last time that happened, it took five people to deal with it. Yes, she remembered clearly. Five frantic nut heads dressed in white pretending to be highly qualified in the science of medicine. The end result was two weeks in an ether stinking hospital surrounded by babbling old farts. And now, she was swinging up high, back and forth, caught in this weary feeling of déjà vu.

“Sit still,” they said from the ground below. “We’ll get you out of there in a few minutes.”

The minutes turned into hours and when they finally solved the problem and got her down, the rotund owner of the fair, a passionate defender of new adventures, so he said, turned his rubicund looks towards her and dared to speak.

“Madam, I express my profound regret for what happened. I am appalled. To apologize for the inconvenience, I would like to offer, free of charge, a lifetime pass to the fair and to all the rides.” He smiled content with his generous offer. The crowd applauded.

She stood motionless, her heart still throbbing. When silence returned, she took a step forward and looked the rotund man in the eye.

“I will never set foot in this dump ever again. I will buy it and tear it down, burn it and sell the land, but not to you. Don’t fool yourself into thinking that I will forget this little event.”

The fair owner was livid. She continued.

“These rides are a hazard to every person who visits the fair, especially children, and look, look how many children are here,” making a circular motion of the arm, she pointed at the crowd. “Never again will any of these rides work.”

The fair owner went from horrified to defiant, rolling his eyes as she spoke. The crowd slowly backed up.

“I don’t think so, missy,” said the plump man pulling a gun from his pocket. “I will keep this fair running no matter what, no matter what,” he repeated, waving the gun in the air while the crowd yelled and screamed and scattered away.

For some reason, in the enthusiasm of the moment, he must have clicked the trigger. There was a loud bang.

She quivered, expecting to be hit. But when she opened her eyes, the fair owner was on the floor, his head blown up. Standing beside him, a young man was holding a gun, pointing it at him.

“Oh my god, what did you do…?” she asked.

The young man looked at the gun, and to the police officers running in their direction.

“Isn’t it ironic? He offered me this gun. He enjoyed guns. He enjoyed kids too…”

Somehow, the fair ride making her blood pressure rise seemed like a small nuisance to her.

Writer's Dash