Today's Prompt: Write about a time when you got lost
as a child. It could be you getting lost alone, or with your whole family.
Dana Lee wrote:
The first time I got lost that I remember, I was at the mall with
my mom and sister. I was wearing a bright neon green shirt that had some sort
of Looney Tunes character on it. It was probably Tweety Bird because I was
loved Tweety Bird. This may all seem irrelevant but I promise it all ties in at
the end.
My mom left my sister and I to go to a different store in the
mall. We were old enough to be on as long as we were with each other. My sister
left to go ask my mom something and before I knew it I was in this huge mall by
myself. Okay, it wasn't really huge... it was just Macomb Mall, which is about the
size of a Meijer.
Of course I went immediately to find security because I am very
impulsive. I was only with the guard for
all of five minutes when my mom and sister saw me walking down towards the
office. This is where my shirt comes in to play. It was bright... very bright, as
I mentioned before. This being said, it is clear that my mom and sister
could see me from a rather large distance.
I wish it was more of an exciting story with bad guys, gypsies,
and wizards but that is all there is to it.
Chuck C. wrote:
An Early Christmas
Christmastime at the Twelve Oaks mall in Novi, Michigan is
certainly a crazy time. Some would label it a Christmas wonderland full of
people seeking out gifts to bless their loved ones in a wonderful time of year.
Others would say it’s a anarchic everyone-for-yourself free-for-all, overrun
with consumerist savages shopping at the behest of corporate advertisement.
As a young child of no more than three, I am sure I believed
the former. I, of course, do not remember this incident, but it is indelible in
my memory do to the many times my mother has regaled this tail. My parents, my
sister, and I had made what I understand to be a rare trip to Christmas mecca
in the dead of winter. We braved the white parking lot and crossed the threshold
into a sea of Christmas decorations and milling consumers. We traveled through,
going about our shopping.
At the center of the mall was quite possibly the most
magnificent display my young eyes had ever seen. A mountain of neatly wrapped
boxes in a myriad of Christmas colors. I was enamored and insisted on being
taken to them. Of course my parents knew the presents were fake. I, of course,
would have none of this and continued to insist I be brought there. Soon, after
realizing I would not be brought there by my parents, I hatched a plan to get
there myself.
I waited until my parents weren’t looking and I slipped away.
Running as fast as I could with foot-long legs, I weaved my way through the
crowds and found my prize. The mile-high stack of presents was right in front
of me. I easily slipped under the ropes cordoning off the pile and went to
town. I grabbed one and began shedding off the glistening wrapping paper, only
to discover its contents were a hollow box. Undeterred, I grabbed another, and
another, until I was sitting in a pile of opened fake presents.
By the time my frantic parents had found me, I had opened
five boxes, and was attempting to open another. I do not know what the reaction
of the mall staff was to this. I'd imagine it they were not all that keen on
the idea, but having nearly lost their first-born son, I think my parents would
have cared little either way. This early Christmas would be a tale that my
mother would tell for years to come, especially any time we drove by the 12
Oaks Mall.
Pope Jon wrote:
It started out
warm and dry with the darkness pressing in around me. The walls were endless as
I clawed my way around, hoping desperately to find the exit. I could hear the
laughter of my tormentor, and I decided to cry out for help once again.
"Help me! I'm lost!" I pleaded,
desperate for sweet freedom. Freedom would mean I could breath freely, stand
erect, and bask in the light of day as humans are meant to do.
My the tormentor just laughed and "encouraged" me to "just come out!"
My the tormentor just laughed and "encouraged" me to "just come out!"
Were it that simple. I thought bitterly, my mind horrified but refusing to panic.
As I continued to claw around aimlessly, I
would see a way out, only to discover that it was just another trick of my
feeble, 8 year old mind. I began to wonder if I'd ever escape as the labyrinth
suffocated me in heat and fabric. I took time to pause and consider my options,
but there didn't seem to be any other than what I'd tried already. My tormentor
continued to laugh gleefully as my captor tortured me mercilessly.
Finally, at long last, I glimpsed the light
of day, and with it, my liberation. Holding nothing back, I rushed for the
exit, and was at last rid of my prison.
My mother watched as I emerged triumphantly
with a gasp of breath, tears of laughter gathered in her cruel eyes.
"It's not funny," I pouted, with
my hair standing strait up from a combination of static electricity and
terror-induced rage.
I vowed to never go head-first into a
sleeping bag again.
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