Review/discussion about: Charlotte

I think, therefore it is not good

I think, therefore it is not good

You find it strange that a line is missing for the ride, but you chalk it up to luck. At some point, you find the lone worker, his nametag reading J.M. He instructs you to climb the ladder before you, with you more than willing to do so. J.M. smiles and waves you off, and you climb.

The climb was quick because of how thrilling it was along the way. You are now at the top, with you overlooking the entire park. A sign says to sit down on the platform. At first, you wonder why there is no seat and no seatbelt, but then the ride starts. From behind, you feel a push. You start to roll forward down a ramp. It is not pleasant but it is at least tolerable. Thankfully the incline is not steep, so you are not rolling fast. You start to develop bumps and bruises, thinking that this is some kind of experimental ride.

Then, suddenly, you start to fall down steps. You start to hear bones snap as the hard edges of the stairs jut into your limbs. The stairs are made of wood, so your bruises start to scrape and then bleed. You start to panic, wanting off this wild ride, wishing that your parents had said no like they always did. At the same time, the steepness starts to increase, speeding you up at intermittent intervals.

Just before you cannot take any more, you are in freefall. You believe that it is over, that a trampoline will cushion your landing. But it does not. Instead, you land on a landmine, blowing your arms clean off. The steep steps continue, except now that you have no arms the angular velocity of your person increases, forcing you to shut your eyes lest the spinning-induced nausea makes you vomit. With each new step, you lose a tooth, and with every other new step, you lose a memory, the repeated impacts putting you in and out of consciousness.

You cannot tell who is what or what is where. And just when you cannot take any more for the second time, you land on a massive spike, impaling your chest, your insides now your outsides. Your breathing is sporadic and splinters have sewed your right eye shut. So with the last of your strength, you raise your left eyelid to discover the name of the ride you just rode. There, in white letters with a comet here and a swooping star there, it reads: Charlotte.

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