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Photons Scramble

photo by MARIANNE LORRAINE M. SAMILING

CHILDREN WERE interesting to watch, he concluded as he occupied a bench by the entrance of the amusement park, waiting. There was something about the way they hugged their parents’ arms and pointed at whatever caught their interest that tugged his lips upwards. So willful, a single-mindedness which by itself could put the “amusement” in this park, but at the same time made him realize that what tended to blind people was not actually darkness, but rather, light.

It was neither the mahogany wooden base of the ride nor its colorful plastic horses that drew children to the roundabout ride and got them to stay despite how it would only drive them around in circles, never truly moving forward. Rather, what would get them hooked was the faint sunset-like orange glow of the small bulbs attached to the carousel which lit up like a lantern hung outside almost every household during Christmas; it then made sense why it was more flocked at night. Nevertheless, he still almost found it unbelievable that anyone would bother with a ride like that no matter how vibrant, but then a finger tapped his shoulder.

Meeting his eyes were another pair, deep brown but gleaming like the ocean during sunrise.

He smiled even though she had been two hours late and always was. It was then when it struck him that even at the age of twenty-seven, he was still no different from the kids drawn to the carousel for its bright lights. MARIA ANTOINETTE A. MALICSE

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