20 years.

For 20 years, I had operated the same ride. I had pulled those same levers, wore the same shirt, the same smile. Every single day. For 20 years.

And I’d never grown tired of it.

I could see the carousel now. It was powered down, frozen in time, waiting for me to send it into motion. It looked peaceful in the early morning light, four hours before the park opened it’s gates. Four hours before I retired, and the new operator took control.

The ride was tucked in the very back of the park, a desperate attempt to hide the aging machinery from the public. But they always found it. It was a timeless favourite, far more than any skyscraper-height fear-coaster. It was simple in it’s construction, but it was elegant, running every bit as smoothly as it had the first time I’d laid a hand on the controls.

A million glittering, metal beams poked from the earth, zebra-striping the path to the carousel with shadow. Smiling faces on wooden cut-outs, stuffed animals in piles at the back of a prize shop. I’d seen these same sights a thousand times, to the point where I no longer imagined them as objects, but old friends. Like a warm greeting from a co-worker, their presence was welcoming.

I’d memorized every dip and divot in the uneven path to the carousel. The concrete was cracked all along it’s length, the weeds that grew out of the spaces trampled down by the heavy foot traffic. No matter how many times they paved it over, it always seemed to split apart a few days later. They’d given up on upkeep in my section of the park within a year.

My old hands passed over the metal railing, the pink paint flaking off and fluttering into the tall grass. Despite it’s desperate need of a fresh coat, everything was as beautiful as ever. Each aluminum pony was airbrushed and hand-painted, standing with it’s head to the sun, frozen in a gallop.

I pushed through the gate, stepping out onto the platform to join them. My wrinkled fingers followed the subtle curvature of their metal faces, every dent and scratch in the paint representing a moment in time.

It was painfully nostalgic, especially knowing that in 4 hours, I would no longer be the operator. This was the last of my time with the park machinery. I’d been there all through the night, wishing everything a goodbye, even if it couldn’t hear me.

I’d been told a hundred times that I was overly sentimental. And they were probably right. It was machinery, gears and wires, painted different colours, and nothing else. But it didn’t feel that way, especially not after all that time.
In some way, the horses were a perfect representation of what I wanted in my own life. To be happy, and give that happiness to others unconditionally. Unrealistic, sure. But it was nice to dream.

My hand brushed between the metal ears of the pony, it’s painted smile mimicking my own. There wasn’t a twinge of sadness in it’s face. It didn’t know that I was retiring. It was the same face it showed to everyone, completely oblivious, grinning without a care.

It’s smile seemed different now, though. It wasn’t malicious, but it had a curious quality to it, like it knew something that I didn’t. The same grin you give to someone when you’re setting up a surprise party.

Of course, it hadn’t changed from the previous day. It couldn’t have. It wasn’t living.

I checked my watch. It was going to be a while until the gates opened, and I’d seriously underestimated how quickly I could do my rounds about the park. The last thing I needed to do was a final inspection before passing it off to it’s new owner, and I planned to take my time with it. I could sign all the paperwork later.

The metal beneath my feet groaned and clinked together as I made my way around the circumference, to the control center on the other side of the ride.

The metal lever was cold, zapping the tips of my fingers as I gripped it. The static electricity caught me totally off guard, my old hand jolting back at the feeling. It was unusually painful, enough to stiffen the muscle in my arm, but luckily, it was over just as quick as your average static shock. I shook my hand about before putting it back.

I composed a short checklist of inspection points in my head as I shifted the ride into motion. The controls were working as intended, nice and smooth. The center base was solid. No creaking sounds, the roof wasn’t wobbling, the horses moved exactly as intended.

I counted them as they passed me by, bobbing up and down in the dim light of the rising sun.

8, 9, 10, 11…

But twelve didn’t come. In it’s place, a drab gap between the horses. I kept my hand on the lever, watching the full rotation again, all my mental energy funneled into counting and nothing else.

8. 9. 10. 11.

No twelve. My hands dropped from the lever, bewildered at the sudden disappearance. For 20 years, the carousel hadn’t changed. Not a single new piece of equipment, or a fresh coat of paint. And now… There was a hole. A piece missing.

A hole that, as the machine’s caretaker… I felt I needed to fill. The new operator was showing up in 3 and a half hours, and I wasn’t planning to abandon them, leave them to panic over the missing elements. There was so much paperwork involved in getting a replacement, so many phone calls. No one deserved that on their first day.

I flipped open my dinky little cellphone and clicked through my contacts, cautious optimism quickly turning into defeat. The repair and replacement crew, the only one in the entire city willing to deal with machinery this old, were closed on weekends. There was no chance in hell I was getting a replacement any time soon.

I clapped the phone shut, massaging my stiff arm. Whatever had zapped me had done a number, as if all the muscle fibres were twisted in knots. Not much I could do about it, besides going back to my car to grab ibuprofen.

But I couldn’t leave. I knew that. The carousel needed my full attention.

I paced around to the back, to the little shack of spare parts that every operator shared. The grass was horribly overgrown, reaching nearly halfway up the door and bending under it’s own weight. None of it was trodden. Either everyone had forgotten about it, or the rides at the park never broke down often enough to justify it’s use.

I pushed the door open with my good arm, revealing a completely barren room. From the floor to the roof, wall to wall, all that remained was a smattering of gears. I cursed my luck, the last reasonable option slipping between my fingers.

At least I understood why no one had used it in years.

That was it. I let the door slam closed, watching as my last option passed me by. At a time like this, on any other day, I would have taken a break. Gone home for an hour to collect myself and make a few calls. I was here way too early anyways, I had the time.

But I just couldn’t leave it like that. It was incomplete, fractured. I wouldn’t let this be the final memory of the carousel I’d looked after for 20 years.

Both arms were stiff now, only somewhat within my own control as they began quaking. My arms pained me greatly, horrible cramps that I couldn’t remedy. But I wasn’t leaving for the hospital. I had to stay with the carousel. I still had some control, enough to lift and manipulate them, but I could only perform rudimentary movements.

I was shaking with an unrecognizable emotion, somewhere between fear and separation, the same anxiety that springs from losing your parent at a shopping mall. I climbed the steps to the control console, the stinging pain fading slowly as I approached the empty space.

There was no other option. There was no one to call, no replacements, nothing. Just me and the machine.

I knelt all of a sudden, an unexpected rush of blood to the head. It was as though something was swimming around inside my cranium. It was something more than a headache, not painful, just overwhelming. All I could do was stay still and squint my eyes shut, trying to relax. A singular voice spoke, echoing inside my head until it became cacophonous, the only sound there.

I was sweating nervously, listening to the thoughts. They were not my own, spawned of a different being entirely, but here they were, dancing around my brain. They weren’t reasonable. They repeated the same words over and over again, the same plan.

It was less an independent thought, and more so a command.

A command that, as the caretaker of the carousel, I knew I had to follow.

If there was to be no replacement…

I would become the replacement.

I could feel the cellphone slip from my hands, crashing to the metal with a plastic snap, but I made no attempt to stop it. I couldn’t. My arms were stiff as boards now, held out in front of my body like a zombie. The thoughts that coursed through my mind were singular in purpose, but numerous enough to drown out nearly everything else.

My feet dragged along the metal floor as the thoughts carried me towards the spot. The shaking slowed as I approached, the cold feeling of separation shoved from my mind, like I was returning to my own home after a long day’s work. The pain in my stiffened arms was disappearing, and the voice was quiet.

I drew closer and closer to the empty spot in the hopes that I could make it all stop completely. I admired the still-gleeful faces of the horses around me as I passed them. I felt comfortable in their presence, as though they were offering protection from the unpleasant sensations I’d been experiencing. Their rosy cheeks and friendly smiles encouraged me as I settled into my new space on the carousel.

Standing right above the space where number 12 had once been was blissful. The pain and the voice were stifled completely as soon as I stepped onto the plate. Despite the shade that the roof of the carousel provided, I felt as though I were being bathed in sunlight and warm wind, like standing in an open field. I felt many years younger, all the pain that came from growing old sloughing off my body. I didn’t care to move from the spot, remembering the pain that had plagued me minutes before.

I felt as though I knew exactly what I was doing. Every step was laid out before me in my own mind, and my body seemed to work of it’s own volition. My back arched, my legs moved apart. My once-frail hands squeezed into fists, my arms outstretched and thrown towards the floor at odd angles. I felt every bit as proud as the galloping horses surrounding me, even if I looked somewhat silly.

The warmth that encompassed me grew a little warmer as I put my face towards the sun. I could faintly hear the whistling of wind through the trees outside the park, the chirping of birds, all sharing a moment in time with me. I was so distracted by these feelings that I felt nothing as the metal pole of the carousel pierced through my back.

In an instant, I was hoisted up by my belly, lifted off the ground and held in place. I tried kicking my arms and swinging my legs, only to find that they were still too stiff to move. To the carousel, I was just another happy horse suspended between the floor and ceiling.

Energy seemed to flow from the rod that pierced through my torso, moving slowly up the length of my spine, up through my neck, into my head. It felt like a gentle hand making it’s way up my back, guiding me, ensuring I was comforted. It was rewarding, knowing that the carousel I had taken care of for so long was now returning the favour.
I grinned as the space under my skin bubbled with the energy, preparing for a major change. I was more than ready to leave my humanity behind and make the machine whole again.

I watched with fascination as the space between my eyes widened, a snout pushing out from the middle of my head. My ears grew, becoming concave and pointed as they moved up the side of my head. Like a sculptor with clay, my skin sloped towards the long protrusion, giving a natural flow and accommodation to my new features. My nose grew wide and flattened to my face, nostrils flaring as they took in the smells of the early morning. My teeth and lips grew larger to keep with the changing shape of my jaw, the tips all blunted and level with one another.

Pearly white paint made its way down my long snout in one fluid motion, like spilled milk. It faded to a dusty brown as it came to the tip, just before dripping down my chin. Wherever it touched, the skin froze in place, but I didn’t mind. I hadn’t planned to stop smiling any time soon.

The paint stretched into a perfect diamond as it moved down my chest, a unique marking to separate me from the others. The artwork was intricate and careful, just as it was for every other horse on the ride.

My sight became speckled and spotty as the airbrush detailed my eyes. They were big and blue, appearing to glint in the early morning sun. My glasses, long since snapped in half and fallen to the floor, were no longer needed. I could see for miles.

Curly, brown hair spilled from my previously-balding head and into my line of sight, solidifying into painted metal within seconds. Perfectly symmetrical, it ran over the length of my snout but never fell to one side. I felt it continue over the crown of my skull and down my spine, neck stretching to new lengths as the mane grew along it. I felt the gentle touch of horsehair for only a few seconds before it hardened into hollow aluminum.

The energy that coursed down the length of my back branched off around each of my sides, meeting around my chest and belly to form a tight hug. I listened as my back popped and crackled painlessly, compacting to the proper size for a carousel horse. My belly rounded out as my back arched even more, white paint and brown spots running across my sides like flowing water. My back end thickened with muscle, luxurious horsehair popping out in an instant to form a long, luxurious tail. It briefly brushed against the back of my lanky human legs before solidifying completely.

My arms and legs shifted further up into my torso, thighs thickening out into far-stronger haunches. The muscles in my upper arms tensed and bunched up as they fleshed themselves out, widening to match the strength of my hind legs. What had once been arms were now poised beneath me, now just another set of legs.

They began slimming down as the energy moved towards the floor. My forelegs were only a third as wide as before, and completely indistinguishable from others.

Save for the hands and feet, of course.

It was a quick fix. I felt the colour from my stomach drip down my legs, long streams of dirt-brown paint rushing towards my ankles as the skin it coated turned to aluminum. The liquid collected at my thin ankles before spilling over, covering fingers and toes with black paint, a thousand times more viscous than the white and brown. It glued together the tightly bound fist I’d been holding for minutes, ensuring it kept everything in place.

Hands and feet ceased to exist, melting into the black goop, replaced quickly with one large, black hoof. What I was feeling wasn’t pain, it was satisfaction. The sensation of my old, frail fingers and toes sinking like skyscrapers into elegant hooves was a pleasant one, like healing a wound. The new hoof was pristine and glossy, shining in the sun as it dried completely.

No longer was I a human becoming a carousel horse, but a carousel horse removing the human parts that didn’t belong.

The wind that passed through the park was picking up as the last changes were made. The warm air that blew past me no longer rustled my hair, instead making no noise as it passed over the painted aluminum.

The white paint that had been dripping down my sides was now closing in on the only patch of skin still exposed. Like a slow tidal wave, it crept up, the little island of flesh shrinking slowly. The one part of me that remained human was gone in an instant, and I hardly noticed. I didn’t care. It was a blemish, washed away like dirt.

Aside from the torn clothing, there was no evidence left that I’d ever existed as a human. All my senses seemed more acute now that I’d wiped away my human blemishes.

With nothing left to worry about, I was fully aware of the luscious environment surrounding me. To my right, overgrown grasses and chain-link fences overlooking a shining valley. To my left, the rest of the fleet, and the glittering, metal tracks of the coasters. Everything was still in the morning sun, if only for a moment.

Without any warning, noises flared up around me, the snorting and huffing of wild horses. It was as though they were cheering at the end of an event, laughing joyfully among themselves. Each seemed to have its own personality, overjoyed to have me run alongside them.

Though I couldn’t twist my head to look, I felt a ghostly presence above me. It whispered reassuringly to me, in the same voice that had commanded me only a few hours ago. A soft blanket draped across my back, followed by a heavy leather saddle. It was old and faded, worn down enough to feel natural when it brushed against my neck. I felt the buckles on either side clink against my metal body as they swung back and forth, the riding seat prepared.

The other horses nickered fondly, their devoted handler now among them. For the first time in my life, I felt truly loved.

I could hear the whinnying all around me, all 12 of us horses stuck in the same moment in time, our hooves off the ground, mid-gallop.

This was where I belonged, under the gentle care of the carousel. The horses lived to be happy, and were eager to make others happy. Now, I was honoured to share that mentality. A sense of belonging and goodwill filled the entirety of my hollow, aluminum body. It was no longer a far-off goal, but a reality, a reality that I was at the forefront of.

In the distance, the front gates clicked, and a crowd of ecstatic children filtered into the park. Their tiny footsteps rang out as they clambered down the stone path towards us, where the old carousel sat, forever a classic, always functional. The new operator wasn’t far behind, wading through the crowd with the keys in her hand to sit behind the control booth. She was young, not a bit of anxiety anywhere in her face. She was confident, caring. I could already tell.

With a flick of her wrist, the lever pushed down, and we, the carousel horses, sprung into action, galloping proudly across the metal. Just as we were made to do.