Jane Eyre is on Fire

Here is a little blurb from the bizarro piece I'm working on:

He plunged through the wormhole and emerged in a dead-dark night ripped asunder with a thousand gaudy lights. The air rippled with the sounds of carnival barkers, rusted bumper cars slamming and screeching against one another, and screaming inbred children; it was clotted with the sickly smell of fried intestine and powdered sugar. Disoriented, Voltaire stumbled and fell face first into a pit of sawdust. He barely had a second to pull his face from the urine- and vomit-soaked cinder when the reeking steel bucket of the Tilt-a-Whirl cracked the side of his skull and he fell, reeling.