[ACTIVATE SELF]

The town had been quiet for weeks, the air thick with the scent of autumn leaves.
Then, one night, a carnival appeared, with a Ferris wheel towering above the trees.
Glowing like a beacon of terror, the carousel spun with haunting lights.
As the once-empty lot suddenly teemed with dozens of wandering wights.
Eleanor’s eyes were wide with fright, unaware of how she got there, as she stared at the ominous sight.
Driven by fear and curiosity, she ventured toward the carnival ride.
But an icy chill shot down her spine the moment she stepped aboard.
The mechanical horse, adorned in jewels, seemed to entrance the crowd.
Their collective gaze and blank expressions followed her round and round.
Time slowed down as the eerie sounds of lullabies pierced the air.
Then the lights went dim, as mist rolled in, and a shadowy man appeared.
“How… how did I get here?” she quivered as the horses stalled.
The dark figure edged closer—voice drained of emotion. He whispered, “Remember,” then paused.
Her memory fog lifted in the instant he gripped her shoulder.
The accident was vivid—the fire, the silence, the coma.
The carnival’s a figment, a prison confined to limbo.
Tethered to a moment when she declined to let go.
The carousel jerked violently, the horses disintegrated into ash.
Revealing Eleanor strapped to a gurney, being treated with an oxygen mask.
“We’re losing her,” one doctor said frantically as her pulse began to fade.
She tried to scream, but no sound came out as the shadow called her name.
“Eleanor, you’ve stayed too long. It’s time to go,” he urged.
The fire surged with every word; it cracked and burned to bits.
Consuming the mirage and all its fabricated tents.
The carnival was trauma, the carousel a cycle, the wights were her reflection.
Mere vessels of survival. But now her vitals fail as she takes her final breath.
Then floats into the void to finally coalesce

…with death.