The roller coaster came through town again, beginning last night, it set up camp nearby. If only for a split second it seemed safe and secure, and I was willing to sit down and take a seat. But before I could realize it, the cart was climbing the tracks towards a steady, steep decent. It shook as it climbed and debris flew through the air. I held onto the handrail the best I could and secured my seat belt, there was no way I was going to let it jerk me around.
I fought back the roller coaster's swerves and curves by remaining calm. By the end of the ride, I once again had managed to step out unharmed or so I thought. But, it was only this morning when I awoke that I recognized the bruises that I had accrued. They were the same bumps and bruises that the roller coaster had given in the past. I rubbed my hand over the bruises, blue in color, and tried to smooth their edges. It didn't help. They would be there as reminders for the next few hours, reminders of the ride I had somehow been taken on again last night.
After I got up and went to sit down at the table with my breakfast, the bruises pressed against the seat and a small woo of pain welled up inside of me. A small cry made its way out. And then another. Soon a collection of tears had filled my cheeks. Once the pain had subsided, I mulled over the roller coaster again and this time made a vow to myself that I wouldn't take another ride. There were plenty of other ways to have fun, ones that didn't include getting hurt. These bruises weren't coming back.
(* a metaphor for a real life event)
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