Contributor: April Winters
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I saw what took place the day four-year-old Katy Lynn Jamison disappeared. The sky a cloudless blue, spring had officially sprung on that still-crisp day. The little girl played alone in her front yard while the new babysitter and her boyfriend did who knew what inside the yellow house with the closed white door.
On the fateful day, I watched as the green car slowed and turned onto Katy Lynn’s street, just as it did every day around the same time. But on that day it crept past the child’s yard before turning into the garage two doors down. The man got out, left his garage door open, and walked to the end of the driveway. He looked long and hard up both sides of the street, but it being a weekday, everyone was either at work or school. No one was about – except Katy Lynn.
The man threw his cigarette onto the pavement, then turned and went back to his automobile. He pulled a box out of the back seat and put it up on the trunk. Reaching inside, he lifted out a black and white, wiggling puppy that joyfully licked the man’s face. The eager, full-of-life pup lured innocent, trusting Katy Lynn out of her front yard and into the man’s garage. She was never seen again.
In the years I’ve been rooted to this spot, I’ve observed much pain and suffering. It’s difficult to endure my existence as quiet observer when I see the horror humanity inflicts on its own kind. But when a child is harmed, I, too, feel grief. The day Katy Lynn’s father tacked the flyer about his missing daughter to my trunk then leaned against me and quietly wept, my leaves sagged around him and I mourned for his loss.
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April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through her stories, even if only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Short-Story.Me, The Short Humour Site, and here at Linguistic Erosion.
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I saw what took place the day four-year-old Katy Lynn Jamison disappeared. The sky a cloudless blue, spring had officially sprung on that still-crisp day. The little girl played alone in her front yard while the new babysitter and her boyfriend did who knew what inside the yellow house with the closed white door.
On the fateful day, I watched as the green car slowed and turned onto Katy Lynn’s street, just as it did every day around the same time. But on that day it crept past the child’s yard before turning into the garage two doors down. The man got out, left his garage door open, and walked to the end of the driveway. He looked long and hard up both sides of the street, but it being a weekday, everyone was either at work or school. No one was about – except Katy Lynn.
The man threw his cigarette onto the pavement, then turned and went back to his automobile. He pulled a box out of the back seat and put it up on the trunk. Reaching inside, he lifted out a black and white, wiggling puppy that joyfully licked the man’s face. The eager, full-of-life pup lured innocent, trusting Katy Lynn out of her front yard and into the man’s garage. She was never seen again.
In the years I’ve been rooted to this spot, I’ve observed much pain and suffering. It’s difficult to endure my existence as quiet observer when I see the horror humanity inflicts on its own kind. But when a child is harmed, I, too, feel grief. The day Katy Lynn’s father tacked the flyer about his missing daughter to my trunk then leaned against me and quietly wept, my leaves sagged around him and I mourned for his loss.
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April Winters hopes to help people forget their troubles through her stories, even if only for a little while. Her other works can be read at The Dead Mule School of Southern Literature, Short-Story.Me, The Short Humour Site, and here at Linguistic Erosion.
Author:
April Winters
It's a sad and effective story that Willow tells.
Ouch. That hurts. Very well told.
Excellent story told with great feeling. Well done.