| General Fiction posted October 1, 2016 |
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Lost five-year old boy
I Want My Mommy
by Ric Myworld
Lost - Flash Fiction Contest Winner
It was Saturday afternoon at Wal-mart.
Racing around the parking lot, cars seemed to be playing musical parking spaces, trying to beat on-coming vehicles to the next open spot. Tires screeched, horns honked, and people screamed and cursed giving hand signals of shaking fists and middle fingers.
It was my fifth birthday.
I was extra smart and big for my age, they said. And, of course, I thought so.
We finally parked. Mom grabbed my hand and hurried me along, my arm almost yanked out of the socket, and my feet mostly dangling, only hitting the ground every third step.
It was hot outside, but when the automatic doors opened, cold air-conditioning swooshed a chill and goosebumps over me.
From the snack bar, commingled smells of popcorn and cotton candy permeated the air, but I knew better than to ask before checking out.
Mom wandered around picking up dishtowels, erasable markers, batteries, and a couple Zack Brown CDs.
Figuring I had waited long enough, I nervously asked, “Hey, mom . . . think maybe I could look at the toys?”
“Tommy, you can’t be running around the store by yourself.”
“But, Mom, I’m five-years-old. I’m big now . . . you even said so,” as I glanced down with my sad, pouty-faced, best-disappointed look.
“Tommy, you go straight to the toy department and that’s where I better find you . . . do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am . . . I will.” Then, I started running.
Mom yelled, “Tommy!”
I slowed to a fast walk, never looking back.
Once I found the toys, I darted in a frenzy of delight from one aisle to the next. Randomly picking up one thing, then another, and admiring nothing for more than a few moments.
From the corner of my eye, stood a huge, ugly, mean-looking man who just kept staring. I knew better than to talk with strangers, so I ignored and pretended not to notice him. As he seemed to ease closer, I slipped around the corner.
Just as I was feeling safe again, he stepped up behind me, and said, “You like those toys don’t you, boy?”
Startled, I let out a muffled yelp and took off running.
In the men’s clothing section, I crawled in between hanging trousers to the circular rack's center. Pulling two pairs apart, I peeked out, and there he stood looking right at me, and said, “What’s the matter boy . . . you aren’t scared of ol’ George are you?”
He must have followed me. So, I ran back to where my mom had been when I left her, but she was gone. I searched the whole store—then, dashed back to where we had parked the car—but it was gone too.
I hustled all over the parking lot, screaming—"MOMMY!"
I went from store to store all over the shopping center. Then, as I sat on the curb—lost and crying—someone grabbed me.
Mom smiled and hugged me tightly, standing there with the security guard, George.
Racing around the parking lot, cars seemed to be playing musical parking spaces, trying to beat on-coming vehicles to the next open spot. Tires screeched, horns honked, and people screamed and cursed giving hand signals of shaking fists and middle fingers.
It was my fifth birthday.
I was extra smart and big for my age, they said. And, of course, I thought so.
We finally parked. Mom grabbed my hand and hurried me along, my arm almost yanked out of the socket, and my feet mostly dangling, only hitting the ground every third step.
It was hot outside, but when the automatic doors opened, cold air-conditioning swooshed a chill and goosebumps over me.
From the snack bar, commingled smells of popcorn and cotton candy permeated the air, but I knew better than to ask before checking out.
Mom wandered around picking up dishtowels, erasable markers, batteries, and a couple Zack Brown CDs.
Figuring I had waited long enough, I nervously asked, “Hey, mom . . . think maybe I could look at the toys?”
“Tommy, you can’t be running around the store by yourself.”
“But, Mom, I’m five-years-old. I’m big now . . . you even said so,” as I glanced down with my sad, pouty-faced, best-disappointed look.
“Tommy, you go straight to the toy department and that’s where I better find you . . . do you hear me?”
“Yes, ma’am . . . I will.” Then, I started running.
Mom yelled, “Tommy!”
I slowed to a fast walk, never looking back.
Once I found the toys, I darted in a frenzy of delight from one aisle to the next. Randomly picking up one thing, then another, and admiring nothing for more than a few moments.
From the corner of my eye, stood a huge, ugly, mean-looking man who just kept staring. I knew better than to talk with strangers, so I ignored and pretended not to notice him. As he seemed to ease closer, I slipped around the corner.
Just as I was feeling safe again, he stepped up behind me, and said, “You like those toys don’t you, boy?”
Startled, I let out a muffled yelp and took off running.
In the men’s clothing section, I crawled in between hanging trousers to the circular rack's center. Pulling two pairs apart, I peeked out, and there he stood looking right at me, and said, “What’s the matter boy . . . you aren’t scared of ol’ George are you?”
He must have followed me. So, I ran back to where my mom had been when I left her, but she was gone. I searched the whole store—then, dashed back to where we had parked the car—but it was gone too.
I hustled all over the parking lot, screaming—"MOMMY!"
I went from store to store all over the shopping center. Then, as I sat on the curb—lost and crying—someone grabbed me.
Mom smiled and hugged me tightly, standing there with the security guard, George.
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Writing Prompt Write a flash fiction story under 500 words about being lost |
Lost - Flash Fiction Contest Winner |
 Recognized |
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