Creative Writing

'Mask'

    Growing darker and darker, the sun hid away, the rain falling from the heavens; its energy drained.

    A boy snaked through the narrow alleyways, looking back, back again; and again, to see the remainder of his pursuers: the masked men gaining on him.

     Kidnappers, with their target on young lost children. They searched alleys like hawks aiming for prey, and snatched them with talons, never to let go.
   
    This little boy lost his poor dear mother; in the melee of people in a market far too busy for the boy's liking.  

    Only at a time like this, running from his fear, he remembered his mother's words as clear as day.

''Never trust the masked men when you have gone astray. Or I'll never see you again. Once they take you away.''

    His breath turned white, and his nose, ears, red. The shadows dark black, as was his future if he didn't run further.

    His sprint fell to a jog, and his jog slumped to a waddle. The rain hid his tears. A perfect guise. His misery and sorrow all washed down a drain.

    People along with hours passed. No one stopping. Time? Doing the same.

    Not one man stopped, to care for the child.

    All but one.

    Hair drenched wet, his cloak a few shades darker. The man smiled softly, and offered his hand.

''Lost?"

    Nothing was said, but the man understood.

"Come on, I'll lead you. Take my hand.''

    The offer was too good, and the hand was warm. He followed along, in the grip of a stranger.

    Making a stop at a tavern, the boy looked around, where men in a similar attire stood. The boy stared at his hand as the man's clutch tightened.

''Tell me boy, where is your mamma?''

''Mamma is gone, taken by the crowd. Though she is well, she is still far away.''

    The man's grip stiffened and his fingers turned blue. He shook the hand off hard.

    Panic rising when all men stepped toward him, adrenaline kicked and he ran to the door.

    The place was not a tavern but the masked men's land. The exit slammed shut and men spread to capture their meal.

    He smashed his way through a window and he ran through the alleyways, blood pumping faster, his breath slowly dying.

    The mother of the boy searched day and night but noticed not when a stray child sang.

''Never trust the masked men when you have gone astray. Or I'll never see you again-''

    His broken eyes looked at his mamma, then down at his clothes, now reduced to rags. He closed his eyes and continued to sing.

''-because she's blind anyway.''

    Looking for children to deceive and steal, the men prowled the alleys, and happened to find the boy. They ignored him and left. For they did not see a boy; but a lost soul in a shell.