Fear is your voice and your color is black.

The days flew by, each one more discouraging then the next. You quickly learned keeping your application on file was nothing more then a polite way of saying no, but it was better then the old ‘we’ll call you’ line, which left you sitting by the phone for hours on end awaiting calls that never came.

You had your final paycheck now but no matter how you divided it up, it just was not going to be enough to last more then a few weeks. You haven’t eaten but two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches the last three days but you could care less for yourself. One less for you was one more for your son.

Each day you get by with out spending a cent was one more you could look forward to. Stretching it to it’s limit you knew it would eventually snap, but you couldn’t worry about that right now.

Flicking on the television you find the cartoons you were expecting to keep your son entertained as you made more pointless phone calls, the ones on the public access channel aren’t there today. Instead you find yourself watching a stage full of celebrities asking you to dig deep in your pocket and help the people of Haiti. You!? They make more in a year then you’ll ever see in your entire lifetime and they’re asking you to dig deep?

Unable to hide the smirk on your lips you flick it off in disgust and announce to your son to get his boots from the closet. You will be going out today. A short trip to the park maybe. Perhaps the fresh air will breathe some new life into you, and even if not it would be a nice outing to wear him out, a six block walk there and back there that is.

You find yourself watching him play in the park from the bench and you’re tempted to go over, but as you finally got your daughter to settle down by bouncing her on your knee, you don‘t.

He’s now precariously climbing up the ladder on the slide for the seventeenth time now and you wonder how many more times he’s going to do it before the day is done. You can see how much exertion it is on his tiny over bundled limbs, trying to carry his weight up it, struggling to reach the top, and yet he wont give up. It’s like he knows what the reward is when he’s done and it’s worth the effort.

Silly kid, you think to yourself as you shift your eyes to the horizon. But perhaps he’s not that silly at all. How many times have you done it? Struggled to pull yourself to the top only to slide down and have to climb up again… How many more times can you do it before you just pack up and head home?

You can spot a dark looking cloud coming over the horizon now and it snaps you from your thoughts. A sense of urgency fills you as call his name out. Eager to get home before it starts to rain, you desperately begin to grab your belongings that are scattered around. When you lift your eyes back up you no longer see your son on the slide.

He’s not on the slide. He’s not on the swings. He’s not by your side near the bench. He's justnowhere…

Terror grips your body as you yell out his name once more.

Fear is your voice and your color is black.