“Welcome to ‘It’s a Small World’”, you hear the tinny voice cheerily blast out of speakers nowhere to be seen, as the boat lurches forward. “For your safety, please remain seated throughout your voyage keeping your hands, arms, feet and legs inside the boat, and please watch your children.” You check that your possessions are secure in your lap, then look up in anticipation of the show that is about to take place on the banks lining the shallow canal of water. The familiar tune starts playing, just as it has countless times before:
It’s a world of laughter,
It’s a world of hopes,
To the left, pairs of animatronic dolls
rotate in circles along an oval track, with
plastered smiles and bright clothes. The
faces of carefree innocence.
A princess in a fabulous gown of soft
pink twinkling lights rotates her metallic
wrist slowly in greeting.
Bright trees stand rigidly straight as two
chipmunk figures move up and down
the trunks on built-in tracks.
A white rabbit holds up a clock in front
of a blue-dressed Alice.
Rows of well-dressed children in
costume form a choir and their jaws
unhinge repeatedly in joyous melody.
From the invisible ceiling, steel ropes
suspend a magic carpet, atop which sits
a prince on an airborne adventure.
The fairy godmother waves a wand and
a pumpkin becomes a carriage, rags
become a magnificent gown.
Despite the pre-ride warning, you reach
out to dip your hand in the water.
It’s cool and refreshing, you can almost
feel the vitality of Fantasyland coursing
through your veins.
You think to yourself,
I’m never going to die.
A world of tears.
And a world of fears.
To the right, a man sits in front of a
desk, hunched over and staring blankly
at his screen, wondering when he’ll be
able to pay off his student loans.
A girl stands in front of the mirror,
sucking in her cheeks, casting shadows
across her face. Not Instagram-worthy.
Thick black smoke pours out of the
chimney of a power plant, and mother
nature shudders.
A patient in the psych ward grins and
whispers We’re all mad here.
Clusters of empty beer bottles litter the
floor, and a haggardly man is passed
out on a couch.
Tangled plastic IV tubes deliver saline,
electrolytes, and morphine to sustain
the patient lying still on the hospital bed.
The doctor holds the X-ray, examines
the tell-tale mass slowly hijacking the
spine, and grimly shakes his head.
Despite the pre-ride warning, you reach
out to dip your hand in the water.
It’s surprisingly warm and viscous, and
your stomach turns when you find your
fingers coated in blood.
You realize with horror,
I’m not prepared to die.