Write a story about a character who gets lost at a carnival or festival. 

Colours: the hues of the rainbow swarming about, bright against the night, dark against the lights, they moved everywhere, all around me, coming in from the path that led back home, or maybe from other paths leading to their own. Noise: loud and chaotic, from everywhere at once, they sang a dissonant melody to the beat of my heart, a melody of garbled and inconstant sentences, snippets of sentences, coming from all of the passersby. 

I took a deep breath. I had to steady my heart: I was here for a night of fun, after all. I had agreed to meet a friend here, my best friend since young, Floran. It was the first carnival for me, for both of us, and it would only last so long before it travelled somewhere else. So we had agreed to meet at the playful stream we marked as our own and come to the carnival together. 

But it seemed he had decided to go ahead, leaving only a mark for me on the ground. He couldn’t have gone far from the entrance though. Then I saw his familiar figure in front of another of those bright stalls. 

"Floran!"

"Hey, Frederick, you're here! Sorry for going ahead, I just got a lil' excited."

He turned to look at me properly, standing there in a set of silly shirt and shorts: a shirt decorated with wild flowers, and shorts too short but for easy play—he must have felt the need to wear something suitable for a “carnival”. His face, his smile, was as excited as always, his hair carelessly wind-tossed in his usual style. In one hand he held a stick of pink floss, like a cloud made of dreams, in his other a pouch of coins, his allowance and savings for the night. 

"Oh, it's fine,” I finally replied, and as an afterthought, "I'm used to it."

"You are not!" he retorted, sticking out his tongue. 

He tossed his pouch up in the air and caught it with the same hand. Then he nodded towards the stall behind him. 

"Wanna have one?"

I nodded eagerly. "Thanks!" 

The stall owner handed one over, and I quickly chowed down. "Wow, it's pretty sweet."

"Pretty sugary,” Floran agreed. He always did like sugar. It seemed to make him even more energetic than usual, even more peppy and cheerful. It was good for play, certainly, but sometimes he would go too far, and leave me tired in the dust. 

Noticing my gaze on him, he wiped his mouth. "Hey, don't look at me like that!" 

"Sorry,” I said with a giggle. 

“Well, let’s go then,” he said, “There’s a lot to see here. I didn’t go very far.”

Grabbing my hand, he pulled me along the wide and narrow streets, perhaps with an objective in mind, or perhaps just wandering aimlessly like the rest of the partygoers were doing. But I was with him, so all was still fun for the both of us. Even if it was just moving through a rushing street. 

Looking at all of the crowded stores we passed by, I said, "Carnivals sure are wild, aren't they?"

"Super wild!"

"Ohohoho!" A sound like a cheerful laugh turned both our heads. It came from a man with a mask smiling and frowning, a large and round and towering man. He held balloons in his hands: two, no, three of them, or more, handing them out to the children who coalesced around his feet like sprites, loyal followers that danced and sang. 

"Woah, what's that?"

"Selling balloons…a clown?" 

I had never liked clowns. Just the thought of them frightened me a little, for no one could be so constantly and maniacally happy. They were one of the fears I had that I kept hidden, for everyone had these kinds of fears—except maybe those weird and horrible clowns. 

 "His mask is kind of creepy,” I muttered. 

"Creepy-cool!"

But alas, Floran’s attention must have attracted the clown’s own, for he turned his head too, and began to move rapidly through the crowd towards us, parting them like scattering dust before a blustery gale.

"Ohohoho! Good night, little kiddies!" 

"Good night?" I asked. The night had barely started. 

"No, it's been terrible,” the clown confessed. But like a jack-in-the-box, he snapped right back to his cheer in an instant. "Anyways, a balloon for you? Hmm?"

"Oh, I'll take one!" Floran chirped. 

"One too—" 

"Three, bumblebee!" And just like that, the clown produced a bright yellow-black balloon from behind his back. It was a bee, for sure, a bumblebee. I didn’t even see him make it—but that’s a clown for you. 

Floran burst into laughter, and so did I. The joke itself was tacky, but there was something in the air that seemed to encourage laughter. The clown, for his part, never laughed: he simply watched us laugh, still holding out the balloon, like a statue or a mime. 

With a small giggle, I said, "I'll take it."

"Thank you, thank you,” the clown said, reanimating himself with an exaggerated bow. Then he turned to Floran. “And a birdie for you."

Floran eagerly took the bird, a bright blue bird. We looked up to see the clown already leaving, hunting for his next targets amongst the disorderly crowd. 

"Thanks, weird guy!" Floran shouted after him. Then he turned back to me. "Being a bird is nice."

Yes, he was much like a bird himself. Soaring in the sky with ease, the natives of wind and cloud, birds were free to explore and roam the world that others could barely dream of. That was Floran. But I was not like a bird at all. 

"Bees are nicer." 

More like a bee, humming endlessly away. Safe only in numbers, and a familiar hive, repeating the same simple actions every day, but enjoying the days nonetheless. 

"Bees have stings!" he teased. 

Hugging my balloon to my chest, I retorted, "That's cool." Any creature needed its defences, after all. 

"And they die when they use them!"

Ah, stings were like that. Just a last resort to them, revenge with the promise of death. 

Perhaps sensing my worry, Floran said, “Come on, let’s go! We still have to see that big event!”

“Big event?” He hadn’t told me anything about that. 

“Oh, yes, there’s going to be a big event in the centre of all of this later on! I heard it from that stall owner a while back.”

“Oh.” Well, if it was something good, he would surely bring me to it. He always had a good eye for all things fun and entertaining.

Just then, someone bumped into us, and Floran’s hold must have been not all that strong, for we slipped apart at that moment. I stumbled back, hands grasping at air, and crashed to the ground all too unceremoniously. 

“Ahh… Floran!” 

But he didn’t hear—he couldn’t, the crowd was much too dense. Just one voice swallowed up into all of the riotous noise. The noise: I felt like it consumed me too, droning mindlessly into my ears, or perhaps droning with too many minds at once, too many to listen to, too loud to ignore. I got up again, unsteadily. Not the unsteadiness of the crowd, of inebriation, but the unsteadiness of doubt. 

“Floran!”

But no response was given. Surely he had noticed, surely he was searching already. I tried to see him within the masses, but there were too many people, too many colours, too much of everything to make out anything. And then I tried to move, but it was like the crowd was resisting my movements, like a wild river, washing away all within its current. Floran must have been trying too, for then I saw a blue bird in the sky, bobbing and twirling, but never getting any closer. The bee in my hand, too, circled madly like they do in the summer heat, caught within the hivemind’s droning. 

Then it must have been all too much, for suddenly I was running, moving back and away. No more carnivals, no more balloons, no more colours and noise could persuade me: I was in fear, maddened fear. I moved through the crowd like a stream through stone—strange that it felt so easy now. Perhaps Floran had shouted my name, or perhaps he hadn’t, but the noise was too much for me to bear. 

“Ohohoho!”

Again, that wondrous and terrible laughter. The bee abandoned me then, going off into the sky, perhaps being called by its maniac of a master. That man—if he was one—was before me now, his mask laughing and crying as he bent down to peer at me, cowering small beneath his feet. But a burst of energy took me then: I pierced straight through, penetrating the crowd, even the clown, in my vengeful frenzy. 

“And a good night to you!”

But I continued running, not processing what he said, barely even hearing it. I ran all the way out of the carnival, and ran further still, up the path that led back home where all would be peaceful. But I ran, by some miracle, off that path, and onto the grass. And my running feet led me to a stream, the stream, the stream that Floran and I always played at, the stream where the night had begun before the sunset. And there my running stopped. 

Finally exhausted, I sat down by the river, watching the silent stream flow beneath the glow of the dying moon. Like the bee that made to sting, I had used up all my energy in a single rush. I took off my shoes and stretched my legs down so my toes could kick the water, and waited. I was content to wait, in the simplest of actions. I was content. 

Then, I sensed someone coming from behind me. I was too far off the path for anyone to approach. It must be him.

"Hey, Frederick. You're here." 

"Floran."

His body rippled on the water, following the hurried flow of the current, but always moving back into view, his eyes fixed on my own. 

"Yup, it's me."

I turned to look at him properly. He was still there in his silly shirt and shorts, but the humour that had possessed him just now must have left. Standing still, his face looked like the image of peaceful neutrality, hair being gently caressed by the wind. His hands were bare, bearing no gifts for me, fidgeting no more. I nodded at them. 

"Where did the bird go?"

"Flew away."

"That's unfortunate." In the first place, it shouldn’t have gotten away so easily. His hands were deft, his legs swift. And any adult could have caught it for him. The flower could have flown. 

"Oh, it's fine,” he said, smiling sheepishly, “Really." 

I returned his smile. There we stayed, smiling at each other for a moment. No more words were needed. 

"Hey, sorry for going—"

"Yeah, I know,” I interjected. With no more resentment than at the start of the night, I added, "I'm used to it."

And with no less humour than at the start of the night, he replied, "You are." 

The lights at the carnival suddenly got brighter, and more colourful. Screams and laughter drifted over to our ears, carried on the wind. Something great must have been happening there. 

Floran’s hand landed on my shoulder. "Should we go back now?"

I nodded, reaching for my shoes. He watched me as I tied up my laces, comfortable in the silence of even these simplest of actions. But there was still more to say before this night could end. And after another moment, I decided to breach the peace for one last time tonight. 

"Carnivals sure are—"

"Wild,” he said, as though suddenly remembering something. He glanced at me. “Aren't they?" 

The string shifted as the lace secured itself into a tight knot. I stood, accepting his hand in mine as he pulled me to my feet. We both glanced back at the blazing carnival, for a moment, then towards the path winding back home in darkness, in quiet. Then we looked at each other. 

"Let's go then,” Floran said, and I nodded, or perhaps it was the other way around. But as we stepped back on the path home, Floran ahead of me, I turned back by myself again: not to rejoin the revelries, but for a final goodbye. Thinking about this night as long and bright as day, I unexpectedly found that I only had one thing that I wanted to say to the carnival. 

"Good night."