Little Girl Lost
her name was harper henderson
Fear runs through the young girl’s veins as she hugs her knees to her chest. She shields her face from view, keeps her eyes shut. If she can keep her eyes closed, then none of this is real. It’s just a bad dream.
If she can’t see him, he can’t see her. If all she sees is pitch black, dark, then he’s not there.
Tears streak down her fair skin, and all she wants is to be home, home in her nice warm bed. Home, the one place in this world where she feels safe. Home, where her dad would sing her to sleep and her mom would stroke her soft, light brown curls and read to her. Home, the one place where the bad man, the man whose face shifts and morphs right in front of her, can’t find her, can’t get to her.
She knows her dad would beat him up if the bad man tried to steal her from them, but her dad was not there. She cries, but her dad fails to hear her, and she’s so scared.
“Harpe?” a man calls out to her through the night. He sounds strong and yet warm at the same time, and though he’s not her dad, she trusts him. “Are you in here?”
“Still, she goes to him, and while his clothes are damp and dirt clings to his skin, she knows him. In a three-year-old’s eyes, it’s been so long, but she knows this man from her mom’s house. He’s the man with the kind green eyes who had held her in his arms and had made her laugh.
And for the first time since the bad man took her, she feels safe.
If she can’t see him, he can’t see her. If all she sees is pitch black, dark, then he’s not there.
Tears streak down her fair skin, and all she wants is to be home, home in her nice warm bed. Home, the one place in this world where she feels safe. Home, where her dad would sing her to sleep and her mom would stroke her soft, light brown curls and read to her. Home, the one place where the bad man, the man whose face shifts and morphs right in front of her, can’t find her, can’t get to her.
She knows her dad would beat him up if the bad man tried to steal her from them, but her dad was not there. She cries, but her dad fails to hear her, and she’s so scared.
“Harpe?” a man calls out to her through the night. He sounds strong and yet warm at the same time, and though he’s not her dad, she trusts him. “Are you in here?”
“Still, she goes to him, and while his clothes are damp and dirt clings to his skin, she knows him. In a three-year-old’s eyes, it’s been so long, but she knows this man from her mom’s house. He’s the man with the kind green eyes who had held her in his arms and had made her laugh.
And for the first time since the bad man took her, she feels safe.
♠ ♠ ♠
And this is why it should be illegal to write anything using only one-syllable words.This ended up being a sort of spin-off to a Supernatural/Big Time Rush crossover I've been working on, if only because the only way I could make the one-syllable thing work was to write a brief scene from the perspective of a young child.