Found this.... I wrote it for a class assignment; it is fiction, but I have been in similar situations... anyone with children has probably lived through this once or twice!
My heart jumped inside my chest, pounding. He was gone.
I barely turned around. The
sounds of the crowd and the machines blended together and fell away, all I
could hear was my heart BOOM, BOOM, BOOM.
My head was spinning. Think. Where would he go; the giant slide; maybe the
carousel? Slowly the noises around me
came back into focus; the whirling of the giant motor next to me and the laughs
and screams of the children on the Tilt-A-Whirl were almost deafening now.
Don’t panic.
I took a deep breath; it tasted of dust and smelled like French
fries. I started to run for the slide,
he had really enjoyed the slide. The
line for the round up was in the way, I pushed through, running, I then tripped
over a black hose. I could taste the
blood from my lip. I didn’t even care
about the dirt now covering the front of my shirt. I got up and continued running. Jumping the hoses and barely missing the side
of the trash can, I turned a corner to the giant slide.
The slide was full of small children waiting
in line, each with an old burlap sack about their shoulders. The stairs to the top were steep; I looked up
and saw that he was not there, nor in the line of squirming kids, no red
jackets. My heart raced once again,
where could he be? I looked around, no signs of him, no little
boys in red.
I start to run once again,
this time to the carousel. I can see the
horses, slowly moving up and down while happy music plays in the background;
still no boy. I turn to the little cars
honking and buzzing as small boys play with the buttons and sound the sirens as
they slowly turn a circle. For an
instant I think I have found him, but it is another boy, in a red baseball
jacket. I can taste the salty tears that
have run down my cheek. I didn’t even
know I was crying.
Finally, I scream,
“Brian, Brian!” as I continue to wander through the kiddie rides. I can feel the looks from parents and
children as I walk through desperate and covered in dirt. Then, through all the laughter, screaming,
and machines I hear a small voice.
“I in here sissy.”
“In where?” I yell back, to
nowhere in particular.
“The bouncy” the small voice
replies without worry.
I calmly walk to the little red bounce house in the shape
of a chicken. Brian’s little Diago
sneakers are lying on the ground next to the bench. I collapse against the side. The plastic feels cool and soothing. My head hurts. My lip begins to pound. I now realize that I have blood running down
my chin. He’s OK. Everything is OK. I am going to kill him.
