They’re Not Coming Back.

They said everything was going to be fine. Even if it was cold.


And dark.


I’m scared of the dark.


They said that they were playing hide and seek with me. Momma told me, “Find us and then we’ll go back home, okay dear?”


The other times, once I said, “I give up,” they’d make their way over to me. I’m saying it now, but they’re still hiding.


Where did Momma and Papa go?


I tried climbing those tall trees like all those adventurers did in those movies to get a view from high up, but it was too slippery and I fell. It hurt.


I’m bleeding now.


Momma will come out to kiss it better, right?


That’s what she always did.


Then why am I still standing here? I’m hungry. What are we having for dinner?


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I don’t think I like this game anymore.


Am I going to die?


Wait, five year olds don’t die so that means I’m alright. Only the old people die.


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I hear thunder.


I hate thunder.


Papa would hug me when I was scared.


Where is he?


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I’m scared.


I’m not a crybaby.


But I’m really scared.


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They’re not coming back…are they.

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