Screams echo through your soul and into your brain, rattling inside of you from the second you walk through the warm steel gates. As you proceed down the blazing hot cement, imprinted by far too many bodies, you are met with your first terror.

The metal tracks creaking in the wind as if they are crying out for a chance to escape and run right out of the park, are staring you down with intensity. You notice that the sturdy tracks start out straight and safe but continue to form loops and hills so unnatural that even the warm summer breeze can’t seem to follow them.

For some reason you will never fully grasp, you mimic the others and wait in line behind crowds of overly excited children and stand under the rays of an angry sun.
Trying to find a glimpse of beauty, you stare across at the nature in this “park,” but are disappointed to find only a tree, which is so distastefully soiled by the sticky, smelly gum of previous riders.

The unnatural and monstrous tracks fill your line of vision in front of you. A sea of people block your sight to your left and right and rows of huts filled with meaningless terrors, that the park likes to call “games”, consume all the empty space in between.

Your eyes burning, your skin sweaty and sticky, and your ears ringing, you turn around and leave the line, staring back at a world of people wasting their summer day.

After driving for only a few miles in the opposite direction of the park you stop to admire your surroundings. The grass isn’t green. In fact, it’s kind of a yellowish brown. The sky definitely isn’t blue, but more of a white. The clouds are anything but “puffy,” and all you can really see is the endless stretch of a highway. But you don’t care because it’s real… It’s beautiful.

So you just lie there, in the yellowish brown grass, on the side of PA-8 and stare up at the white sky, flimsy clouds, and real world. Taking in a breath of warm air you absorb a summer day for what it’s really worth…