Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-25975226-20150203072201

I just wrote this story and I want to make sure it hasn't been done before before I post it onto the site. Thanks, any constructive critisicm is welcomed. (Title suggestions also welcomed)

He's Gone

 “Has anyone seen my son!?” the woman screamed as tears and snot ran down her face. Stumbling into the market place and balling her eyes out, the woman collapsed onto her knees and screamed from the bottom of her lungs. “He’s GONE! Help me please!” she cried out, and everyone who had been previously going about their day turned in her direction.

 The women rushed over first, their husbands dawdling after them mindlessly a few seconds later.

 “Are you okay? Where did you last see him?” one woman with short brown hair and a flowery sundress asked the woman, placing her hand on the pale lady’s shoulder. What she got in reply was an ear-piercing scream which seemed to erupt from the woman’s throat, and the woman with the brown hair wondered how her throat hadn’t ripped itself apart with the force of her shriek.

 “I can’t find him ANYWHERE! He was right there, I know he was!” the woman strangled out between sobs. Her dainty shoulders shook and her chest heaved heavily, racking ferociously with each desperate sob. Mothers clung onto their little ones as the once peaceful scene of the market place exploded into chaos.

 All around the woman, people began to pull out their phones and dialling the police. Frantic talking and dial tones filled every empty space in the wide concrete plaza. The woman kneeled on the ground, crying into her hands and convulsing. Her long black hair was wet with tears and fell in strings across her face. She didn’t look up. She couldn’t face the reality of the situation which was now unfolding before her. She couldn’t believe he was gone.

 “What’s his name, sweetheart? Where did you last see him?” a woman with kind eyes and blond hair asked. Her blue t-shirt crumpled as she kneeled beside the woman struck with overwhelming distraught. Her white skirt crept up her thighs as she knelt, and she began to stroke the woman’s hair in an effort to calm her down. “My name is Lucinda. And I can’t help you if you don’t answer me, honey.”

 Lucinda was slightly overweight, and was definitely over 60. Her short and graying hair strangely matched her blue and white outfit. She was the kind of woman you couldn’t help but smile at whenever she spoke. Except, of course, if your son was missing.

 The pale woman’s head shot up and her stringy black hair, now plastered to her face, covered every recognisable facial feature she had. “You can’t help me,” she spat, “Don’t you EVER CALL ME HONEY! I need the police! Someone help me!” Lucinda staggered backwards, almost falling over as her cream high-heels hit a crack in the concrete floor. This sudden burst of rage had shocked her, and she staggered away straightening her skirt and shirt. Poor dear, she thought to herself, I can’t imagine what she must be going through.

 The woman faced the floor, and her hands returned to their original position, covering her eyes and containing her violent sobs. Honey, that woman had called her. That’s what she had called Samuel.



 About 10 minutes passed and police were on the scene. One officer strolled over to the woman with black hair, and asked her for her name.

 “My name is Chelsea, please find him, please,” she replied, the desperation evident in her strained voice. “He’s all I have.”

 “We’ll do our best, ma’am. Now where did you last see him?” the officer removed a pen and paper pad from his pocket and began to jot down everything that the woman, Chelsea, was saying.

 “He was right there, right next to me. We were over near the apple crates, I only looked away for a second and then Samuel was gone! I’ve looked everywhere. Oh, please tell me you’ve seen him?” she queried the officer, and he lowered his pen and pad.

 “I just arrived here ma’am, and I’m afraid I haven’t seen anyone matching that description as of yet. According to the other officers, no one has. But we will keep looking. Don’t give up on him Chelsea, we’re going to find him,” the police officer told her and she relaxed. The police officer, however, tasted the familiar tang of regret on his tongue.

 He had just promised he would find this lady’s son, but how could he promise her anything like that? For all he knew, the kid was dead, or kidnapped, or 100 miles away. There was no way of knowing, yet he had given her his word. As he walked away to rejoin the other officers, he knew that he had made a huge mistake.

<p class="MsoNormal"> Chelsea sat on the bench in the middle of the market plaza, her violent shaking and her sobs subsiding. A police officer walked towards her with a grim look on his face. Chelsea didn’t look up, and she didn’t remove the sticky hair from her face. She knew what he was going to say.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Ma’am, I hate to have to be the one to tell you this, but we don’t know where your son is, or how he disappeared. Now, Miss Chelsea...” he asked, waiting for an answer.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Williams,” she replied, the tears returning, “Chelsea Williams.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Miss Williams, the only way we can help your son is by investigating it further down at the station. Unless there’s any information you haven’t told us yet, you can go home.”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Um,” she said, her head rising slightly.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “What was that ma’am?” the police officer asked.

<p class="MsoNormal"> “Well, he said a couple of nights ago there was a man standing outside his window. He said that the man had claws, though. I just dismissed it, because of how ridiculous it sounded. Does that mean anything to you guys?”

<p class="MsoNormal"> “It’s probably nothing. But thanks for that information, Miss Chelsea. You can go home now, rest up. We’ll be requiring more help from you tomorrow. Call us if anything else happens, okay?” He replied quickly and, turning away from the woman, he shook his head.

<p class="MsoNormal"> What a troubled lady, he thought. Wonder if the kid’s even missing.

<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt;text-align:center"> *  *  *  *  *

<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-left:36.0pt"> Chelsea walked back towards her car in the darkness. Once she sat once again in the cool leather seat, she smiled. Pulling the black wig from her head and revealing her curly blonde hair underneath, she sighed. Thank god, she thought. No one had seen him. “Good luck boys, but you’re never going to find him...” <ac_metadata title="Has this been done before?"> </ac_metadata>