Age affects us, but how it does depends on you. This piece is comprised of two short pieces, each told by the viewpoint of the same girl, but at different times in her life.
June 7th, 2016.
Fifteen years old.
The air was euphoric. And it was probably this atmospheric condition that seemed to heighten all my senses. The pinks were more electric, the reds more rosy, the yellows more vivid, the blues more pellucid. The sweet mingle of the buttery popcorn wafting from the popcorn cart, the sticky, brilliant sweetness of the multitude of coloured cotton candy, and the acrid tang of the fish-n-chips made me almost bounce with the anticipation of feeling each of those flavours burst on my tongue.
All around me was a bustle of activity: stalls and fair games with displays ranging from stuffed toy animals to swaying towers of cups attracted both people old and young, frenzied elation shining off their faces. Teenagers whooping and cheering on their friends at the blow darts stall, a doe-eyed woman covering her mouth with pink manicured fingernails as her husband presented her with a teddy bear. I watched a young girl flitting towards the ice cream truck, her scarlet coat floating behind her and her blonde curls bouncing.
My attention, however, went straight to the bright towering structure that was the primary source of the joyful shouts and roaring laughter. I whirled around, my brown hair streaked with a crazy shade of orange whipping around my shoulders as I turned to gaze in awe at them. Like a wheel from the chariot of the Sun god, the ferris wheel was a multicoloured whirl against the brightly painted background of the mid-afternoon summer sky.
What made this carnival truly wonderful was the range of emotions that filled the air around me. The zig-zag of people, the sounds of laughter, the strong aromas of food, and the company of my siblings, their blue-eyed gazes beckoning me to follow them to the ferris wheel. A sense of elation overcame every pore in my body. There was a bounce to my step as I trailed after them.
June 7th, 2028
Twenty seven years old.
It was one of those lazy summers Sunday afternoons. The sun hung idly in the cloudless blue sky, its brightness uncaringly turned up to the maximum. The palm trees stood still, their emerald leaves fanned out, relaxing. The smell of frangipani and chlorinated pool water intertwined with each other, waltzing across the thick air. People were lounging in the pool, some of them with their eyes closed, face uptilted to the sunlit sky, other leaning against the aquamarine walls, chatting idly with cocktails clasped between their fingers. Most, like me, were sprawled out on beach chairs, gently cushioned between soft white towels and the tanning caress of the sun.
Attendants with tank tops the colour of the sky and loose linen pants floated about with trays carrying an assortment of things ranging from margaritas, to kebabs to suntan lotion.
I gazed down at my fingers, painted a hot shade of red, similar to my swimsuit. My brown hair hung down next to them, and I found my fingers running through it, glazing over the strands that were once dyed a crazy shade of orange. I sighed, going over for the millionth time what a good idea this vacation was. Everyone around here, similar to me, seemed to be basking in the heavy fragrance of luxury. I relished in it. Relished in pushing the ‘pause’ button of everything for a while. It seemed as if even the very air had paused with me.
This story is part of the Demiurge Student Publication for the UWCSEA East High School. Visit the Demiurge page to read more student writing.
Demiurge is an online platform where East High School students can share and showcase their creative literary work. For more information email firstname.lastname@example.org.