Gone

The first time I disappeared, I was six. One moment, I was sitting at the table eating spaghetti with my family, the next moment I was gone. Just like that; now you see me, now you don’t.

At first, my family thought I was pulling some kind of prank. They searched the house from top to bottom, ready to ground me for interrupting dinner with my shenanigans. By the time they realised I really was missing, they were frantic. They were just about to call the cops when I showed back up in my seat, with no knowledge of where I’d been or even of having been gone at all.

The second time I disappeared, I was ten. I was sitting in the library, reading Harry Potter to a bunch of little kids, when suddenly I wasn’t. The kids I was reading to panicked. They were convinced I was kidnapped by Voldemort. When I reappeared half an hour later, they were still there, balling their eyes out.

The third time I disappeared, I was thirteen. I was taking a Maths test and, when the teacher saw me gone, he thought I was wagging. It was last period when it happened, so by the time I reappeared, the school was empty except for the cleaners. I was given a week’s worth of detention and a fail mark on my test.

The fourth time I disappeared, I was fifteen. My mates and I were swimming at Bondi Beach. When they couldn’t find me anywhere, they thought I got caught in a rip and drowned. When I showed up three hours later, my friends were sobbing on the beach while lifeguards and choppers searched the ocean for my body.

The fifth and sixth times I disappeared, I was sixteen and I was gone for seven hours and three days respectively. I didn’t get into any trouble. I think my parents finally realised it isn’t my fault.

The seventh time I disappear might be the last. It might not. Even if it isn’t, the next time might be, or the time after that. I’m scared. I’m not ashamed to admit it. I am seventeen years old and terrified I won’t see eighteen.

I have no idea where I go when I disappear, or what happens when I am there. Is it good? Is it bad? Am I in paradise or hell? Or do I simply not exist at all? It is happening more often now, and lasting longer every time it happens. How many more times can it happen before I don’t come back?

I am afra

*************************************************************************************************

This week’s prompt was ‘I was six years old the first time I disappeared …‘ from Lilydale High School.



Categories: Fiction Friday

Tags: , , , ,

2 replies

  1. Oh well, if I hadn’t read the last three lines of your post…I’d almost convinced my self that you were the Margo Roth Spiegelman of real life. I hope you know who she is 😉

    Like

What are your thoughts?

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

Anthropology.net

Beyond bones & stones

Thought Catalog

Thought Catalog is a digital youth culture magazine dedicated to your stories and ideas.

Fat Heffalump

Living with Fattitude

Writing Up My Serotonin

Using the world of fantasy to stay sane

Patrick W. Marsh

writer, blogger, screenwriter, consultant

%d bloggers like this: