Missing Marcy

 

By the time I got up the next day, dad had already gone out to look for Marcy. At school I found out lots of other dads and mums from our street and the whole town had gone out early to help with the search; some had taken the day off work.

After school, the playground was full of mums, even the ones who lived only a few doors down. I raced home to find that not only was there no Marcy in the swing park, there was no one at all.

Dad came home later than usual with a look on his face that made me too afraid to ask him anything. No one said anything at teatime, and afterwards I was allowed to watch telly by myself in the sitting room while mum and dad talked in the kitchen.

When I was supposed to be in bed, I sat on the landing trying to listen but I couldn’t make out anything they were saying. I gave up and went to lie down. Although mum always said it was a waste of time, I prayed to God to make the bad people let Marcy go, or tell her to come home if she’d run away by herself.

Every morning I looked for Marcy on the way to school, in the playground and in assembly. There was no sign of her. Day after lonely day passed without my prayers being answered.





About me

This is me: home-writer, book-reader, dog-lover and occasional poet. I make this website to share my and my friends texts with You, dear Reader. Please: read carefully, don't be scary, upgrade your mood and be king and leave your comment. :)