gesturing ambience

The bright lights and constant moving seemed to shove a sense of euphoria into the air. Excitement bubbled from every corner. The crowd flowed like wind, dashing from one stand then slowly ambling onto the next.

But the crowd was a crowd. Another mere object that hindered my movements. Walking through it was growing exhausting. How long had I been moving forward? It was late, and the new moon in the sky allowed the lanterns and colors to light up the night.

I sat on a bench, beside a large tent. Children's squeals of joy sounded from inside. It was a reptile exhibit, though everything else was too loud to allow me to hear any snakes.

Across the road—which was emptier now, since a show was going on in the catering section—I watched two faceless children exchange a bill for a bag filled with cotton candy. It was overpriced. Ten dollars for such a small bag. But within the elation of the festival, prices grew irrelevant until the next day, when regret emerged.

Cotton candy. How long had it been since I'd ever had any? I stood up, reaching into my empty pockets. The woman beside the cart watched me closely, though I couldn't see her face. She gestured for me to come closer. I insisted that I had no money, but she offered me the bag regardless.

As I reached out, I paused. I couldn't allow myself to be swept up in festivities. I needed to find my way back. I shook my head, pulling away. The woman wasn't fond of my decision. She didn't yell, nor did she chase me when I left, but I could feel her unhappiness.

Like everyone else, her expression was blank. Her face was blank. Nothing but a slab of solid color. I wondered if I appeared that way to them, too. If they were all so swept up in their own worlds that I was as blank as everyone else.

I shook my head. Regardless of what everyone else appeared to be, I needed to get back.

I passed a man. He wore a purple suit and a matching top hat. Even without a face, I could feel his plastic grin as he shouted for everyone to gather around.

For a moment I wavered, watching with the rest of the people. He conducted a few simple magic tricks that everyone knew how to do. Still, the crown was amazed. Then came the box trick. He needed a volunteer from the crowd.

Every magic show was the same. There was nothing special about this one. Nothing new, except for the volunteer. His long arm outstretched in front of him, his index finger the only one left out. It pointed at me.

I shook my head, backing away. I'd seen enough. I had other places to be than such a ridiculous magic show. Still, the crowd turned to me. Every face watching, even without eyes.

They pushed me forward, towards the stage. I continued to shake my head. They ignored it.

And when my feet stood firmly on the wooden stage, I faced the magician. He waved his arms toward the box. So I ignored him. I walked passed him and down the stage, back to the main path.

No one stopped me this time. Much like before, their feelings of despondent seeped into the air.

I hurried away. How much further would it be?

More people watched me as I walked now. Their faceless heads following my every movement.

The crowd was no lighter. It seemed to be growing more and more, as if its goal was to waver me.

I maneuvered around, taking different paths to avoid the crowd.

And at last I had made it. I could see it. The distant parking lot. It was empty, behind a fence with a closed gate. And behind the parking lot, a house. My house. My home.

As I ran across the grass—when had I started running?—the crowd grew more desperate to stop me. They grabbed me and shouted at me. They more intensely attempted to offer me food or prizes. I shouted, too. But unlike theirs, my shout was of fear. I pulled away, kicking at anything that tried to root me down.

And when I was free, I continued running. They didn't follow me away from the festival. As if the booths and stands marked a border that they could not cross. I looked away from the faceless mob. I wouldn't allow myself to go there again.

Over the fence. Across the street. To the house. Finally, I was home.

As I grabbed the doorknob, I froze. Why did I want to go home? How did I know this was my home?

I had no memories of this place at all. For some reason, it just seemed like the place I needed to be at. Not the festival.

I opened the door. And, as if I had opened something within myself as well, a memory returned.

A memory of myself, existing in that house. Of myself, cowering in fear beside my bed while my parents weren't home at night. And when they returned, they refused to acknowledge my presence.

And I remembered the festival, every year. The only place that I had actually felt happy. Even just standing in front of it, with no money to pay for a ticket. Because it seemed to give off an ambience of excitement. Of happiness.

I had watched everyone walk in, focusing more on their feelings than their identities. How many hours had I stood longingly outside the gate, watching the joy of those who entered?

And whenever I'd asked my parents to buy me a ticket, they'd yell at me. They'd say we couldn't afford anything like that, even though they left the house every night. I would listen to them. I'd have to. Otherwise, they'd be mad.

It's okay, though. I was happy, just watching the festival. Yet, one night, a man had been kind enough to buy me a ticket. He said that they were cheap, and it wasn't a problem at all. I had thanked him genuinely.

And, even though I couldn't participate in anything, just walking around that night was amazing. To be within such joyfulness. To stand in its center. A feeling I never wanted to forget.

When I returned home, my parents asked where I had been. I told them, and they got mad. They said I shouldn't beg other people to pay for me, and that I wasn't worth paying for.

I listened to them. They were usually right, after all. And even when I agreed with them, they were still mad. More mad than usual. It was scary.

What happened after that?

I can't remember...

But why had I wanted to return home so badly, even after being in the festival?

I looked beyond the door. The house was normal. The rooms were as they always were. And my parents were gone, as they always were. I was afraid, when they were gone. When they weren't there to protect me.

I called for them. There was no answer.

But something walked down the stairs. I don't know what it was. I can't describe it. It seemed so unfitting, as if it shouldn't exist. Simply a dark gap, a deleted reality. And it didn't speak, but I could hear it.

It was telling me to leave. That I had to leave. It was time, apparently. It wanted me to go with it. But it wasn't a discomforting, ominous call like the people in the festival. It was more welcoming, and I knew it had no malicious intent.

When I asked it a question, it turned to look at me, although I wasn't sure if that was its face.

"It's time for you to go," was all it answered, and so we went.