My mother would kill me... well not literary kill me, but kill me sufficiently enough that I get damaged. Damn it! I cursed. You know what I mean, you've probably experienced it too. My feet were moving as fast as I could move it. Retrace, retrace, retrace. The words furiously repeated in my mind. Step after step, my sandal skipped on the black tar road and hopping on to the tumbled footpath. The only thing left to do was retrace my steps if I hoped to find it.
The grocery bag was getting heavy in my arm. You’d think she’ll be happy that I’m getting some work done, but nooo, she won’t. I needed to find what I lost.
My eyes darted left and right, swiftly scanning the street. Could it have flown somewhere? Could someone have picked up and kept it for himself? Cars, motorcycles and wind were puffing on the street, it could have been blown away? If it was wind, then where would it have been blown? That garbage dump, the shop corners? The thoughts and theories stumbled across my mind and to each I had no answer.
I was getting closer to home, until I finally arrived in front of the elevator. All hope was lost, now I had to face her wrath. The elevator came down and as I stepped in, I remembered, there was a last bit I still had to retraced – the staircase. I had walked down when I left home. No, it won’t be there, I convinced myself, if it was going to be anywhere, I would have found it on the street.
There’s no harming in trying, another soft voice seemed to whisper. The bag had grown quite heavy under my arms and I longed to go up the elevator, however, if there was even a slight chance...
My feet were already taking me up the stairs.
On the third floor, it lay silently on the ground as if waiting to be found by me. My mom’s favourite cloth bag, it must have slipped out of my pocket. I slipped it inside and continued to my house, like nothing ever happened, like nothing ever got lost, it was just another Christmas Miracle.
The grocery bag was getting heavy in my arm. You’d think she’ll be happy that I’m getting some work done, but nooo, she won’t. I needed to find what I lost.
My eyes darted left and right, swiftly scanning the street. Could it have flown somewhere? Could someone have picked up and kept it for himself? Cars, motorcycles and wind were puffing on the street, it could have been blown away? If it was wind, then where would it have been blown? That garbage dump, the shop corners? The thoughts and theories stumbled across my mind and to each I had no answer.
I was getting closer to home, until I finally arrived in front of the elevator. All hope was lost, now I had to face her wrath. The elevator came down and as I stepped in, I remembered, there was a last bit I still had to retraced – the staircase. I had walked down when I left home. No, it won’t be there, I convinced myself, if it was going to be anywhere, I would have found it on the street.
There’s no harming in trying, another soft voice seemed to whisper. The bag had grown quite heavy under my arms and I longed to go up the elevator, however, if there was even a slight chance...
My feet were already taking me up the stairs.
On the third floor, it lay silently on the ground as if waiting to be found by me. My mom’s favourite cloth bag, it must have slipped out of my pocket. I slipped it inside and continued to my house, like nothing ever happened, like nothing ever got lost, it was just another Christmas Miracle.
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