Writing Prompt: Hideout

In the box.  I have to stay in the box until Dad finds me.

There are lots of noises downstairs.  Doors slamming, people talking.  Loud, squawky radios like the ones policemen carry.  Dad’s yelling again.

I wish I had been in the balloon.  I wish I could have floated far away.  Away from the cameras, away from the shows.  Away from Dad.  Well, not really.  Not away from Nice Dad or Science Dad, but away from Mean Dad.  Maybe Mean Dad will float away someday and leave real Dad behind.

They’re calling my name again, but I have to be quiet.  I have to hide.  “Stay in the box until I open it, Falcon.  Do you understand?  It’s important, because it’s for the show.”  I remember nodding, but now I don’t want to stay in the box.  I want to fly away.  It’s dark, and I hear lots of strange voices, and it’s noisy outside, and I’m hungry, and I’m scared.  And I don’t feel good.

Please, Dad, find me soon.

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