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.

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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. :)