The Kids

I went to the house that night when they were screaming. I was afraid. I was mad. I was upset. I wanted to do something. So I went.

The lights were all out, save for one flickering glow of the television through the front window. I knocked on the door. Nothing. So I jiggled the handle and heard the click of the mechanism working, then felt the door swing open almost on it's own. I watched it hit the wall and heard the hallow, echoing sound go through the house.

Empty.

The place was empty. Nothing was there. It was like they had picked up and left, leaving everything as it was. I walked through, holding on to the top of my left leg, because after all I had ran there, and did my best of looking around.

Going upstairs, which took some interesting movements, might I add, I looked everywhere. Nothing really stood out. No one was there, of course, and I just kept looking as if something would pop up and give me an idea.

So I went to the kid's room.

And I found something.

Him.

He was standing in the back of the room, near the window. I just kind of watched him, eyeballing him and trying to figure out what I could do. The kids were gone. He was standing there, staring at something on the floor. I couldn't tell what it was, but it got his attention pretty good.

Then he looked up.

And I jumped.

And he turned.

And I didn't move. More so, I couldn't move.

He walked forward a single step, and I walked back a single step. He moved again, and I didn't move. And I watched him. Observed him. His chest puffed and sank like he took a breath, a shallow, short breath. Then, he moved his arm.

And I ran.

And ran.

And ran.

Then hobbled.

And he didn't chase me.

I didn't come back for a good amount of days. I'm not going back there.

But.

I wish I knew what got his attention.


Adieu,
Will