The long walk home.

Poem/short story.

It was cold out that night, bitter in fact. The coldest on record as I walked on back. I walked down the street, looked left I looked right, And all I could see was the frost of the night. There were icicles hanging off trees and off lights, and all down the road there were black sheets of ice. The buses stopped running and dad got delayed, so I started walking, much to my dismay. 45 minutes it takes to walk home, but hours had past and the streets I still roamed. Or thats what they hoped, my mom and my dad, they hoped I was lost they hoped it's not bad. They called all my friends and checked all the rivers, just for the fear that I fell as I shivered. They took my route home, retracing my steps, they searched all the streets they searched them in depth. But still no such luck in search for there daughter, You see I was kidnapped not drowning in water. After a while they knocked door to door, sensing suspicion at door 44. So later that evening my father snuck out, and into the cellar of door 44's house. He creeped in with silence less sound than a mouse, he searched for my body in mr fentons old house. In the cellar sounds muted it locks up the screams, thats why my poor parents didn't suspect a thing. Until this one night when my dad found a bunker, he'd broken the lock and had a peek under. The worst he'd expected was finding me dead but what he had seen was a girl with no head. My head was dismembered to stop all the screams on the freezing cold night that he grabbed hold of me.