The Wrath of the Ginger

Sporting blue jean overalls and crimson pigtail braids She wizzed right through apple bobbing and flashy arcades Making absolute certain, she was the first in line Only to be disappointed by a “height to enter” sign As mad as a hornet, her face matched her red hair All worked up with excitement, she demanded a scare Little to no concern, for her tantrum, was displayed Grownups rolled their eyes at her petty Charade The smirk, she was wearing, was a sight for sore eyes The crowd began mocking as she said her goodbyes A moderately obese Boy Scout, showed her to the exit But forgot to watch her leave. He was too busy texting What happened next, Is up to you to decide The power was lost. Every light, sound and ride Some say the child turned to thick, black smoke Rolling in from every direction, till each neck was broke Not a witness was spared, from the wrath of the ginger Now all through the town, you can hear the ghosts whisper