This week’s first line:
“He’s terrified of small spaces, didn’t you know?”
It was obvious there was something wrong when they opened the door and saw him there, tears running down his cheek, huddled in the far corner of the broom closet.
The search had taken hours, and no one had looked in the closet thinking he had last been seen outside, and that was where he mostly likely would be found.
When they pulled him from the small space, he clutched at his mother, his arms around her as if never to let her go.
Then his story unfolded. The kids from across town had been bullying him for some time and had caught him in the backyard. They held him down, and one of them had said he knew the boy was afraid of small spaces. They thought up the plan to lock him in the broom closet, and even though he kicked and screamed as they dragged him there, they were more intent on indulging in the boys panic than listening to anything he said. They just didn’t care, they didn’t think, the kid was a wuss, and they were going to assert their strength and might over him.
After they left him there and secured the door, he did try to get out, but it was of no use. He tried to call for help but his fears overcame him, and all he could do was crawl into the far corner of the closet and hope help would arrive.
He could hear people outside calling his name, and he tried so hard to call back, but he was mute in response.
In the end, he discovered he could kick at the door, and this ultimately alerted his searchers to the closet.
His parents took him into their arms and were grateful to have their son back and aware they now had to work to quell the fears he would have triggered more often than ever before.