Excerpt
Here's Rob and Mary, hand-in-hand, continuing their stroll toward the end of the pier. Smiling. Heading toward the sunset, wanting front-row seats. Rob looks to his left, past the roller coaster, up higher, higher.
The great wheel.
Already blushing neon-red in the husky haze of sundown, the wheel stands like a sentinel god, benevolent. But demanding sacrifice. The priest at its feet fills flesh into its rotating row of iron mouths, sending them up and around; stomachs sink as they go up and up and up. This high the people are ants on the boardwalk. Toy cars filing into rows back toward land. Distant seagulls are black drifting flakes of ash over the water…
But not yet. Not yet…
Rob and Mary walk past the great wheel. Butterflies flutter in his guts. It's on the wheel he'll show her the ring. It's at the top he'll ask for her hand. She'll say yes, and we'll kiss in our private cabin, high above the world.
The priest of the great wheel arrives unshaven, a former carnie wearing a ball cap and dark blue T-shirt. Black jeans and high tops. He readies the ride as the sun sinks, distant and bored, tired of this day. It slashes its own belly, bleeds fire into the cold sea. Seppuku sunset.