Chapter 32
Six Flags smelled like everything good and terrible about America—fried dough, hot pavement, sugar, sunscreen, and soda.
After ten minutes of breathing in the air it felt like my lungs were coated in amusement park residue.
Kids were screaming on the water slides and a guy in a giant foam character costume waved at everyone like maybe this was actually the greatest place on earth.
Everyone around me looked sticky, tired and, very much alive.
I’d barely made it through the gates at the entrance of the park before someone recognized me.
“Oh my God, you’re the guy from Die Trying, right?” A girl in her twenties with blue hair and braces pointed at me with a fried Oreo in her hand. I gave a shrug and finally admitted to being this elusive and anonymous guy she had been watching.
“Maybe.”
Her eyes lit up. “Can we ride something with you? Are you doing anything insane today?”
Suddenly, my plan to try to die alone on the most dangerous wooden coaster in the country started to unravel.
I had hoped I could wait till the end of the day, when everyone had abandoned the roller coasters right before the park closed, and would ride El Toro by myself.
I hoped that something would go wrong, and I’d get flung off the ride, but if I were to bring innocent people on with me, I could no longer hope for that.
They wanted to live. They were here to have the time of their lives.
In a quick game plan change, I gave up on that idea and told my fan and her friends to meet me at the ride later.
I didn’t head straight for the roller coasters.
It wasn’t time yet. I wanted to feel a part of the crowd first. To experience the chaos firsthand.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t too much longer before another person spotted me and waved at me like I meant something.
Like I was brave instead of broken. After that I wandered.
I ate amusement park food like it was my last meal.
I had a corn dog, a churro, a funnel cake, and a giant lemonade in a plastic cup shaped like a cartoon character I didn’t recognize.
I was like the hungry caterpillar if the caterpillar was depressed and had a death wish.
As I wandered around, more people stared. A few whispered. One guy offered to buy me a beer if I let him film me doing a backflip. I declined. I told him I was reckless, not athletic. He clapped me on the back and guffawed as if what I had just said was the most hilarious thing he had ever heard.
By noon, four more people had come up to me.
Two recognized me from YouTube and one from TikTok.
Apparently I had a fan account on there with a huge following.
The guy told me his girlfriend loved my channel and asked if I’d say hi to her on Facetime.
I said sure, and did as he asked. I didn’t understand why it made them happy to meet me, but believe it or not, I found myself actually liking making people happy.
I had come here to flirt with death, not fans, yet that was how my day ended up shaping up to be.
When I was fully stuffed with disgusting food, I finally headed to the ride.
El Toro loomed in the distance—made up of wooden beams and ancient rattling violence.
It looked like something that should’ve been condemned or turned into a historical landmark by now, but instead it was still running with people strapped to it.
Over the years the coaster had already injured a few people.
Back injuries. Whiplash. One dude had lost a tooth and filmed himself holding it up like a war trophy.
The ride wasn’t just fast; its movements were brutal.
The first drop was nearly vertical, and the whole thing shook till you felt like praying even if you didn’t believe in anything to pray to.
I’d scoped it out from a distance earlier in the day.
Part of me had hoped something would be visibly wrong.
A cracked beam. A loose bolt. An “Out of Order” sign that I could take as a sign from the universe.
But it had run perfectly all day. Over and over.
Taking screaming people, thrill-seekers, and tourists for the ride of their life. And now it was my turn.
I got in line with my camera and that’s when they showed up. The girl was followed by a group of five—three girls, two guys—all probably in their early twenties like their blue-haired companion. They were so excited to meet me; a few were practically vibrating with it.
“Dude,” one of them said, eyes wide. “You’re him. You’re him.”
I nodded. “I am someone.”
They laughed and called me humble.
We boarded the front car. I sat in the middle. One of the guys and one of the girls flanked me on either side. The harness came down with a metallic thunk. My chest tightened. One of the guys in front of us asked if I was filming. I said yes.
“Fucking amazing bro.” He leaned over to high-five me.
His hand was sticky. I tried not to make it obvious when I wiped it off on my t-shirt.
The girl next to me grabbed my other hand right before we ascended the first hill.
“This is gonna be fucking sick,” she said.
I thought about asking her to let go. But I didn’t.
The climb was slow and noisy—it had that classic roller coaster click-click-click like a countdown to an explosion.
My stomach crawled into my throat as I watched the sky get closer.
I tried to focus on the clouds. Pretty soon I’d be plummeting; my body strapped to wood and gravity.
The girl gripped my hand tighter, hers was sweaty.
At the top, the world fell away. The drop was like being punched in the soul because it wasn’t just a fall, it was an annihilation.
My spine felt like it was being torn from my body, and I screamed before I could think about it.
Loud and unfiltered. I couldn’t hold it back even if I tried.
The ride had a way of yanking it out of you.
The turns whipped us sideways. The track vibrated like it was alive and was trying to buck us off.
My body rattled against the seat; my head jerked with every jolt.
Someone laughed. I was screaming too hard to know if it was from terror or joy or both.
And then, much to my dismay, halfway through the second drop, the nausea came on quickly, like a betrayal.
I had done so much worse than this ride and had never seen the full contents of my stomach before.
I tried to swallow it down, but the coaster had its own plans and at the next spin, I threw up.
It wasn’t dramatic, nothing projectile-like, but it was just enough to smell horrible and be messy.
The girl beside me screamed again, but still she didn’t let go of my hand.
I spent the rest of the ride actively trying not to get vomit on anyone around me as I shoved the shame of being human as deep as it could possibly go.
When the ride ended, my legs felt like they didn’t work, and as I limped back onto the platform, the group around me cheered.
“That was insane!” one guy shouted. “You good, bro?”
I gave a thumbs up with vomit still on my shirt. They whooped and said they had only been brave enough to go on the ride because of me. I hadn’t known what to make of that.
I found a bench to sit on and wiped my mouth and my shirt with napkins from a pretzel stand, trying to decide whether I wanted to disappear or relive the whole thing.
I smelled like something awful, but the group insisted on taking a few selfies with me before they left.
They told me again that it was the best ride of their life.
One girl said she’d never forget it. Honestly neither would I.
I uploaded the footage that night, puke scene included.
STUNT #17: EL TORO—THE COASTER THAT brOKE ME
The thumbnail was of me mid-scream, face pale, and a smear of something suspicious on my hoodie. The video got twenty-nine million views in two days.
The comments poured in.
“Aw he looks so cute when he’s making friends.”
“The way he screamedddd lmao I love him.”
“Bro even looks hot when he’s puking. Someone tell me HOW?”
“This was kind of… heartwarming.”
“You finally smiled. And it wasn’t fake.”
I scrolled for an hour and read every single comment.
Even the dumb ones. By the time I closed my laptop, I didn’t know how to feel.
Because they were right, I had smiled and it had been real.
For a few minutes—strapped into that ancient death trap, surrounded by strangers who knew who I was, I didn’t think about dying.
I hadn’t wanted anything at all except to live through the next loop.