When you finally arrive at your long-awaited destination, it seems to be everything you had hoped for. Your  father handed  a lady several blue tickets and you were granted passage into the spring festival. As soon as you step through the shiny steel gate, a soft scent of honey finds its way into your nose, rotating your head in the direction of several flourishing concession stands. One certain kiosk catches your eye, pulling you away from your parents. The wooden frame of the booth seemed to be peeling, but it’s not enough to distract you from the delicious pies, savory cookies, warm pastries, and sweet jams displayed atop the oak counter. Suddenly, your mother’s firm hand grabs ahold of your shoulder, breaking you from your sugar-determined trance.
She spins you  around, and your view shifts towards the infinite mass of light green grasses, dotted with the reds and yellows of newly-sprouted flowers.  The golden rays of the midday sun mimic the petals of the magnificent dandelions that dot the sprawling fields below. With the gleeful signaling of the event coordinator,  you, and other children of the same size, sprint into the sea of plant-life to scour for colorful eggs, perfectly hidden in the tall, sweet-smelling grass.From the perspective of your parents, you become a small speck on the verdant ocean’s horizon. Behind an unwieldy patch of dead grass, you discover the most elegant feat of nature that has ever greeted your young eyes.It was the largest, most flawless candy-capsule that you  have ever seen in your life. Comparing this gleaming egg  to its dull cousins is like attempting to find the differences between a bar of pure gold and an old toothbrush. Its shell, not soiled with dirt, its color, not fading, its candy, not scattered along the ground. You drop your previous discoveries onto the soft meadow, lift the magnificent sphere of perfection, and carry it to your parents, who congratulate you on your marvelous find.
The smooth, vividly green leaves dance in a delightful flurry above your heads.To the west of the beautiful meadows, a crimson barn sitting atop a hill gazed over the surrounding pens of livestock which, from a distance, look like blobs of brown, white, and black. As you approach this conglomeration, these shapes gradually became more definite, until you  can make out graceful stallions, fluffy sheep, and agile chickens. “PETTING ZOO” is inscribed above the stable’s two oak doors in sharp letters. Within this barn, a cushioning layer of dried grass is mixed into the dirt of the ground. It connects and merges with stacks of hay arranged as if to mimic an ancient ziggurat, allowing beaming families a relevant object to stand in front of, while posing for flashing cameras. Apertures in the wide ceiling light the beaming, yet still face of a large humanoid rabbit, that sat on the lowest step of the golden pyramid. Rows of horses, separated by walls have the freedom to rest in the warm interior or stand outside and receive affection from kids of all ages. Suddenly, an aroma of barbequed meat pulls you and your family towards the center of the farm, like moths to a light.
You  are greeted by numerous shining bulbs connected by a network of wire, which seems to illuminate the oranging sky. Multiple sturdy tables are accompanied by laughing figures and plates of finely cooked nourishment. Thick, well-done, steaks line the countertop, getting whisked away gradually, one by one. Delicious yellow cakes of cornbread are stacked in a way that resembles the stunning structure inside of the barn. Beside the steaming green beans, and the slow-roasted ham, there are potatoes so finely mashed, that the dullest spoon could pass through them with no effort. However, there was only one thing more soft than those fluffy spuds, and it is being created right before your eyes on a cozy cerulean booth
Time slowed to a stop. Everything lost its color. You can hear the sound of your own heartbeat. Your vision obscures everything except for the object of your desire. It is a  strange pink cotton ball of heavenly goodness, that dissolves swiftly into the tongue, absorbing its sugary excellence into the tastebuds of one who is lucky enough to be graced with its succulent texture. Your mother once again pulls you away from your stupor, lecturing you on how it's too late to be eating clouds of sugar.
The impact of this cruel punishment pierces your heart like an English rapier through a Spaniard. You deserve that delicacy, since you had to pose next to that eerie mascot in that wooden shack!  Your clothes are still stained with the rancid odor of starving goats and grimy hogs. It just isn’t fair! Why is that little girl in the yellow dress allowed to have some? Your mother continues to ignore your completely sound arguments, as you part with the cotton candy magician, who continues to conjure pure flavor before everyone’s eyes.
You lumber back to the cheap plastic table to resume your meal. The burnt crisp of meat, which now looks very unappealing, covers the remainder of your flimsy plate along with the foul-smelling green beans, and liquid potatoes. From nearby, a crowd as tasteless as the farm’s cornbread directs their screams at the amateur band, in exchange for an encore. To the horde’s amusement, a cacophony of noises begins to emit from the local circus onstage, causing your whole body to cringe. Mosquito after mosquito, gnat after gnat, make it their most important duty to pelt your face and land their frail, diseased limbs on your shoulders and head.
A sense of relief flows over you as you return through the rusty front gates of the “festival”. The blinding, yet setting sun is the only thing illuminating your final glance of the shabby carnival. Children laughing, an audience cheering, flowers sprouting, none of it interests you now. If only she had gotten you that cotton candy...