Rapture

The air was crisp and dry in the early November morning. Burgundy leaves had already fallen off of their hosts, and lay scattered on the pavement below the young maple trees. Not a single being was outside that morning on Troy Avenue, except for Cena. Cena had on a dark brown velour track suit; and to accompany the ensemble, she pulled her long black hair into a pony tail, preparing herself for the activity that lay ahead. She began jogging at a slower pace than normal; attempting to warm herself up before the real work out began.

She went on her usual route, going south on Troy Avenue towards Tiryn’s Boulevard. On the second repetition in her course, Cena noticed a curious Terra Cotta pot with ornate designs encircling the mouth of it; portraying colors the sun would have never allowed that early in the morning. Rich greens, deep blues and purples, livid yellow and orange all glinted off the speckled paint baked onto the strange jar. Feeding her natural curiosity, Cena cautiously picked it up, and in that instant, she vanished. The pot clattered to the ground unbroken, undamaged.

Mrs. Alexander was walking around Delphi Park with her four year old son, Cale. The excited little boy ran around the park as fast as his small legs could carry him, and as he did so, his chestnut brown hair shimmered and shined in the sky’s mid-afternoon sun. Everything seemed to have an extra amount of light shed upon it today; the lush green grass looked silkier than bed linens, and the mighty trees swayed in the zephyr that had settled into Delphi Park.

Mrs. Alexander heard her son make several high pitched squeaks and looked from her Sunday Crossword Puzzle to see Mrs. Breus and her daughter, Helena being given a fairly warm reception from Cale. Cale and Helena had been the best of friends since they were both one year old. Little could be said the same for the mothers.

“Hello Attie,” Mrs. Breus sneered.

“Hello, Hera.”

“Helena mentioned that Cale is becoming less focused in his school work; is there a specific reason for that?” Hera Breus had been a pre-school teacher before she and Attie had ever met, unfortunately, their dispute over a wooden rocking horse led to the demise of their friendship. They put up with each other for the sake of their children.

“Cale is doing just fine, thank you. Helena seems to be less cautious as of late, someone should really be keeping an eye on that girl now.”

…

Hera became silent, but not from the laughable insult Attie attempted to throw at her.
Helena and Cale were not in sight.
“Hera did you hear me?” Attie was becoming impatient with Hera.
“Athena, this is NOT the time. Haven’t you noticed that there’s something MISSING?”
Hera gave Attie a moment to let her eyes scan the void park.

“CALE?! CAAAAAAAAAAAAALE!” Attie became suddenly frantic, sprinting from her previous seat on the park bench over to the mediocre playground set to search for her son and his best friend. Hera came only moments behind her, mimicking Attie’s motions with no success.

“This is all your fault! If you hadn’t been so busy trying to point out my child’s faults, then we would have been paying attention, and they’d still be here! What if someone took them?”
Distress was carved into Mrs. Alexander’s face, as well as on Mrs. Breus’s.
The two mothers, once holding disdain for each other, now worked together to find the most important things in their lives. They searched high and low, but still nothing; from Glo to Peloponnesus Park, holding a small flame of hope that their children were just playing a cruel joke on them. Mrs. Alexander, taking a break from the intense search, sat down on a nearby grassy area. Her foot accidentally nudged a very antique looking pot. From the nudge of her foot, the pot produced a low, echoing grumble complaining of its old age and delicacy. Attie picked up the intricately decorated pot, only to vanish, just as Cale, Helena and Cena had earlier that day.

Mrs. Breus saw the terrifying scene happen right before her eyes, but she could not believe that something so abnormal, something so RIDICULOUS had just happened. And she could do nothing to stop it.

Now, that beguiling ornament is sitting in an over-protective glass case in the Sebeth Modern Art Museum. No one has any information about the piece of pottery or its origins, resulting in it being in the High Security area of the museum. No one has seen Helena, Cale, Attie, or Cena since that one November day. Hera is suffering from Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder, but attempts to carry on with her life to the best of her abilities.