upon first examination you see the splintering wood. the places where it is rotting away. in one particular place there is a large hole in the board flooring. the mirrors are cracked and the colors faded; it seems very uninviting.

you walk a little closer and step onto the base. it creaks beneath your weight, but you don't stop. you find yourself walking toward the most magnificent part of the ride, carefully running your hands along the broken bits and pieces.

when you reach your destination, you pause and consider the sight before you. the memories roll inside your head of a young child, excited and full of energy, waiting. the child's father lifts him up high and places him on the back of Thunder. he wrap his arms securely around the horses' neck. the music starts up and he is jerked forward, but he knows he is safe.

when the picture fades, your hand is resting on the saddle of a faded black horse. you can faintly see the green and brown color of his tack. his mouth is still opened wide, a wild look frozen in his glassy eyes. you pull your hand away from the horse and try to compose yourself as a tear slips down your cheek because you know that right now is the last time you will ever see him. the contractors are on their way to tear it down. because to them it is just a broken and rotting piece of garbage, but to you it is still a wonderful memory of a childhood carousel.