Whychwood Fair by Ema Acosta
Whychwood Fair by Ema Acosta
It all starts with a trace of laughter, whispered on the wind.
A normal carnival from a distance it seems, stationed at the edge of the foresta massive ferris wheel reaches above even the tallest trees.
You draw close, pass the greeting tent, and realize the nature of the place: All of the rides, all of the games, they are made of woodand not carved, but grown, as if the trees themselves were twisted into shapes and patterns anew. The roller coaster track is braided from vines and slicked with berry juice, its carts pulled up each hill with uncanny snaps.
The whac-a-mole is infested with mushrooms in evergrowth, softening any mallet hit with a satisfying bounce.
The menagerie keeps beasts no one would dare touch, yet all they do is caress visitors in passive purrs.
Here, and only here, all living things are one. The crowd swirls, children laugh. A moment of joy meant to never pass.