Fictional account of the day you were taken from me.

You and I were so close.

We spent every moment together. I loved you. You loved me. It was the most innocent form of the word, and the truest, even at our young age, both 7 years old. But we didn’t care. All we knew was that we were the best of friends and we only wanted to be with each other. Each day, I ran to your house to see you, and we’d walk to the little elementary school down the road, skipping, hands held, smiles, laughter, enjoying life. We were always partners for every activity. Nobody understood me like you did. I always felt like an outcast. I wore my hair differently than those little girls, even Julie, who was the prettiest girl in class. You paid no mind to her and that meant more to me than anything.

Everyday we’d go to the park. We loved those rusty swings under that big tree right in the center. While everyone else was on the merry-go-round, and the slides, you and I settled for those swings. No one bothered to claim them because they were ours. We’d swing so high; we could almost touch the trees. You would push me; then, I would push you. Our best memories were shared atop those swings. Then, when it grew late, and we got tired, right before out mothers came, we’d sit still, hold hands, and just smile.

One day, while we were swinging, it grew cold, dark, more than usual. I told you to stay close to me. Our mothers were nowhere in sight. I held your hand tight, and I promised I wouldn’t let you go. Suddenly, a dark shadow appeared, and the swings grew cold, icy almost. I trembled and you held me. You were trying to be strong, but you were as scared as I. Then, our moms began running toward us. I screamed and the shadow grabbed you. I couldn’t feel your hand in mine, and it made me sick to my stomach. I searched for you in the dark, but you were gone.

My mom came towards me and grabbed me. She took me to the car. I fought her, kicking and screaming your name. But, it didn’t work. She drove off, away from the park, away from you, away from those swings. I never saw you again.

Today I sat on those swings, almost 10 years later, the rusted chains, itching beneath my grip. I’ve missed you. But I don’t know where you are. I haven’t seen you since that day and it tears me apart. The park is empty these days, barren almost, and the children don’t laugh. The wind blows frosty, and I can’t seem to pay attention to anything.

And, on cold mornings, I sneak away to the park when no one else is there. When I’m alone, I’ll swing. I’ll swing so high; I could almost touch those trees. I’ll search for you, scan the park, listen for your voice. But, I won’t hear it. Still, everyday I go back to that park in search of you. In search of our childhood. In search of us.

The End

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