Ember's Forge

A low groan was trailed by a succession of mechanical pops as the surrounding lamp poles, and storm lights shuddered and dimmed before shutting off. Darkening the vibrate colored carnival advertisements into diabolical figures, cast in the evening’s shadows. The moon peeked through the overcast maroon skies as the striking grey clouds swept across the horizon, warning of impending downpours.

It was the main reason for the carnival’s early and sudden shutdown. As just moments before, the emergency systems blared and rang across acres of rushing enjoyment and hazed inhibitions – for it was the adults-only day. A rare experience for the slimly populated, seemingly forgotten subset of Ember’s Forge, and the debauchery had just begun. The evacuation had only moved the party to the storm shelter – where mass intoxication, hot tempers, and close-quarters set off the already lit fuse.

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A flashing of rainbow string lights blinking to an unknown tune remained on in the distant fairgrounds. The lone lights now bright enough to play across the unconscious figure's face that lay peeking through the haystacks at the entrance of Ember's Forge Maze directly across from the games and rides.

The bright insinuating eyes of the Magic Man and his wunderkind sidekick, the Slight of Hand - lurked in the background staring down at the slumped and twitching mass. As the lavish welcome sign begged the question, “IF YOU DARE…ENTER THE FAIR!” in severe, bold lettering.

When two shadows emerge from the mouth of the Dragon’s Demise ride. Their gangly and dwarfed figures were dancing in strange oblong motions as they neared the waking bundle, slowly unhidden by each unconscious movement to dig themselves out of their needle-filled nightmare. Only to open their eyes to the smaller, more distorted lifelike faces of the Magic Man and the Slight of Hand.

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Although outside the bustle, Ember’s Forge was a municipality far enough away to be obscured and whispered about by city folk and close enough for those same folk to make a quick trip for cheap drugs and illicit affairs. Ember’s Forge was a place the big city loved to hate, with the majority happy to avoid it. But also employ and enjoy the lackluster establishments and disparaged lawlessness when convenient. A political shift over the years had made the town an even more tabooed place. The local city elites who once frequented the Forge Falls parties as teens now balked at the idea of their own children stepping foot there – with growing disgust and fanaticisms, continuing to attach themselves to the area. Multimedia ads were put out against the lowly manufacturing town as a despot locale of vicious self-made thugs, especially after the factories moved within the cities and their use dried up. The lower and middle classes within the cities swiftly replaced the staffs brought over from the dying town’s multiple production plants.

This left the small population of disenfranchised and homeless people of Ember’s Forge - who clung to city life - as illegal refugees. Forced underground to work for deportation protection when they no longer possessed a valid city-sponsored work permit and faced life imprisonment if caught with a forgery – which became a new source of revenue for the people of Ember’s Forge. 

After a haphazard attempt to strike and overthrow a factory: a new interstate was designed to go purposely around and over the hazardous town. The bridge, an atrocity to those who inhabited Ember’s Forge – as it went directly over them, creating a precise black shadowed strike across their cut-off circular village. Surrounded and separated to the north and east with a polluted river and a dead forest, before reaching the city borders and miles of deforestation to the south and west. Leaving the half-finished highway and a series of wiry unpaved paths, the only routes in or out of Ember’s Forge.

So, the announcement of a colossal city carnival deciding to set up in their humbleness and provide a most needed escape had brought the entirety to a complete frenzy, including the outcast among a community of self-proclaimed rejects, Hana.

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Hana loathed Ember’s Forge in a conflicted manner. It was her home, the only home she has ever known, and she was equally in love with it. All Hana knew was here, and she couldn’t be any place else, and that’s what made her strange. Everyone else had the same love-hate relationship with their hometown. But Hana hated that everyone wanted to leave but stayed to grow resentful, bored, intolerant, violent, and most of all intoxicated. Hana didn’t understand why they couldn’t just be better, do better, want better. The town's adults couldn’t just do something, build something other than drugs and criminal organizations, to attract the city folk differently. Why the council leaders seemed intent on destroying or abandoning everything to squalor.

Initially, the festival was a wish come true for Hana. She had always heard stories of the cities' amusement parks and elaborate festivals, and traveling carnivals. But the news of a Forge Festival on the worst day of Hana’s life was like the crescendo of kismet. Having just ventured on foot to the city border with hopes of asylum under the Orphaned Job Rescue Act, which allowed able-bodied children who’ve lost their guardians to Forge Cancer to establish themselves in a city factory – working toward food and shelter. Hana was laughed and aggressively taunted away as the border staff judged her diminutive and starved structure as no use to anyone.

Hana had never run so fast or so hard in her life. By the time she reached the dilapidated fences, marking the town lines - stumbling blindly down the fairway, her world crashing down upon her. As she raced to her new home set up at a roof access landing in an abandoned highrise stairwell. Hana had almost wholly missed the conversation by two border guards on their way from one of the bars on Ember’s Strip - shouting about “taking a piss at the fairgrounds” before heading back to the “Forge whores”. Hana, entirely beside herself, had come to a crashing halt and approached the men in a sweaty craze - with fresh (and healing) cuts and scratches covering her exposed legs and arms – as she begged them to explain themselves. In response, the two border men kicked her to the ground and spat on Hana, calling her “a filthy beggar boy” before strutting away.

Hana had waited, huddled in the fetal position in the middle of the pathway. Sobbing until she collected herself when hearing another passing conversation about the new buildings in the fairgrounds, out by the condemned lumber yards. Hana was again surprised by how fiercely she sprinted and the overwhelming feelings engulfing her. Experiencing the sight of an actual roller coaster and what appeared to be its own town of rainbow tents filled with prizes and wonderfully weird characters and giant wooden creatures of every dream, with signs for actual petting zoos and rides! Hana had smashed her face into the new wire fencing. Speechless and instantly depressed, as she struggled to consume the informational signs that repeated the gutwrenching news, “Every child must be accompanied by an adult during Open Age days.”

Devastated and officially hopeless beyond regard, Hana tried everything she could to arrange a way to get into the festival. She was beaten and shunned away every time, left to wander around the parking lot begging for someone to take her in for any work they needed. It wasn’t until the last day - meant for adults only – did Hana desperately seek the help of scalpers to sneak her in. By this time, the town population was outright beside itself, and the parties hadn’t stopped when the festival lights went dead. It was when Hana snuck over in the night to just be near it as much as she could before it left - was when she spotted the pulsing lights and heard the far-off thumps of a rhythmic bass. Hana had wandered around, attempting to avoid all the raucous partying. But the same border guard men that had assaulted her days before in their drunken state were now in complete ecstasy. And wanted to do anything to help Hana get into the carnival. However, their price was too high before they suddenly promised they would pay…and all Hana could remember was an instant of intense gratitude before being grabbed and the lights to the world shut off. 

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Now, Hana stirred and thrashed in a sea of black needles and loud razzling noises that died away into silence, leaving her alone to whistling winds. Until Hana finally opened her eyes to the sight of the Magic Man and the Slight of Hand looming down on her in their matching, unseasonable three-piece neon orange corduroy suits - backlit by the greying moon.

Hana’s first thought was death – she had died, and this was her forever place. She had finally made it to the carnival! It wasn’t until the sight of dancing shadows and the appearance of the lifesize versions of the gigantic carnival cutouts with open arms coming to grab her - did it become a reality. Hana felt her eyes might pop from her skull as she sprang up from the haystacks only to swerve and crash down at the Magic Man and Slight of Hand feet.

“Hey now. No need for all that youngin’, we come in relative peace.” The incarnate of Magic Man relayed in a condescending tone, with a long and sunken face of striking angles, as the bones stretched against his strangely tanned but translucent skin. All of which was unperceivable by Hana, who couldn’t process sounds and sights beyond the pounding of her own heart.

The Slight of Hand slithering from behind, observing Hana in its froggish manner, waving his stump as if it was a full-handed flourish. He appeared hunched and also standing to attention, with a pained look painted across his face and an offputting fire in his green eyes.

Hana was sure the Slight of Hand croaked before he spoke to his partner, “This one seems out her wits. Introduce ourselves, sire. Let us be acquainted. They appreciate that sort of thing.”

“Hm…seems wasteful…but these storms have ruined our final night. All we've had tonight were those awful guard men. I guess this will have to do.” The Magic Man quibbled with resentment as he nodded down at the awestruck Hana - still staring into what might have been oblivion.

Hana couldn’t tell if they were saviors or demons yet. And became unsure once more: if she was dead, drugged, or dreaming, but all seemed to fit. The only thing Hana was sure of was that she was in danger.

The gangly figure of the Magic Man coughed and snapped for Hana’s undivided attention before making a grotesque series of movements that ended in a quivering open embrace mirroring his cutout. At the same time, his voice congealed into the following monologue.

“Hello to you! Wait…what’s your name?”

“What?” Hana shivered.

“’ What’ is not a name.” The Magic Man snarled.

“H-Hana…”

“Well, Ha-Ha-Hana, I am the one and only Imagination Creation! And this here is my trusty steed and undeniable source of inspiration, Literal Interpretation. You, for these intimate circumstances, may call us Imagine and Lit.”

“But-But y-you’re Magic Man and –“ Hana interrupted meekly, pointing to the signs behind them.

“Hush now fowl thing. Those are stage names. Don’t interrupt the show. You’ve been invited to experience the real deal, so behave as a grateful child should.” Snapped Imagination Creation.

“Tut-tut M. The child is obviously stunted but has paid the ticket price, so the show must go on.” Corrected Literal Interpretation with an air of absolution to the rules.

“You are a true performer, my boy. Of the highest regard! Now, think swift with this one. I am feeling creative.” Imagine giggles with elation while enacting another series of limb spasms that ended in the grasping pose before he began with a deeper, more grandiose tone. “I am! The great harborer of ideas and the habitue of dreams. WE! The sculptor of nightmares. The artist and his canvas, the mind and the body. WE! The bringers of the fantastic, unbeknownst to the laymen and falsely bombastic! WE ARE! The universes immortal painters! Come! To bring forth the realities in which you only fathom of in your most profound slumbers. HEAR ME! And BEHOLD! A Literal Interruption brought to you by the Imagination Creation! HANA BANANA! We will make a smoothie of you and serve you at the corner!”

At this raucous peak and echoing thunderous pronouncement, Imagination Creation paused and stretched his arms wide to shudder into a bow. As Literal Interruption did an off-count twirl, striking his own mirrored stance now, with an exasperated shuffle ball turn, they both leaned in toward the horrified Hana, frozen in a flurry of fear and anticipation.

It was Literal who broke the silence, “…We are going to kill you.”

The oxygen seemed to vacate Hana’s lungs as another forestalling pause suffocated the air, and her world went dark.

“How do you make a human smoothie lit?”

“We make a big blender, of course.”

“Right...raid the knife throwers’ tent and meet me at Satan’s Tornado.”

“Inspired, sire.”

“You can enjoy the festival Ha-Ha-Hana Banana. We’ll find you.”

Hana gaped then ran in the only direction made available to her… directly into the Ember’s Forge Maze.