Hmm, what is this?

So, in considering yesterday's proposal, I've decided to take a stab at writing a shorty short. This piece originates as a nonfiction event, but moves into fiction. I'm not sure if I should do something like this because people were hurt at this event, there might be negative backlash.

I tried to keep the piece to 300 words. I've done this precisely. I'm just not sure it carries significant enough weight to be worthy though. Hmm, something to consider.

In the meantime, I figured I would throw it out there and see what the rest of you thought.

Fourth of July

People packed Wait Park for General Canby Days and the stands offered cotton candy and corn dogs to all passersby. I remember the dunk tank, our coaches sitting on the platform, dripping wet and shouting at us. “You can’t hit it.” My friends and I circulated in the crowds looking for cute girls, cheap entertainment, and, possibly, the slightest bit of mischief.
We had pockets full of Whip-Its—tissue-wrapped bundles of powder that popped on impact—and we loved sneaking up on the unsuspecting. We dropped them near groups, by the elderly (who, at that time, was anyone over fifty), by flocks of younger kids, and the tight bunches of mothers who were always good for a scream.
One woman confronted us, scolded us for being kids, for getting up to the mischief of a summer day. We hadn’t seen the baby in her arms, hadn’t paid close enough attention to know the joke was in bad taste. She turned away from us and stroked the back of the baby’s head, smoothing its delicate hair.
I put my Whip-Its back in my pocket.
When the horse began jumping and kicking its way through the crowd, frightened by a poorly placed Whip-It, I turned.
Crowds parted, the horse’s haunches appeared above the heads of frightened onlookers who scooped up their children and ran. People screamed. The horse itself was terrible and beautiful, a force unleashed, a feeling not unlike my own adolescence, something that had been contained and was now launching out of me. It’s tossed mane and arched back shocked me, drew me out of myself, made me take pause. In the space between breaths, I watched the horse unfold itself, like an exhale, or a sigh, and knew it felt free, if only for a moment.