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Chapter Excerpt #4, “My Son is Missing”

I found him.

Finally, after all this time.

I see her, with him, my son. My beautiful boy. He’s gotten so big. He has hair just like his dad, curly and bouncy, blonde with a hint of red. He has such little hands; I see as she takes one in hers, and leads him down to the swings. That should be me.
But it can’t be. Not here. There are too many people around. I have to wait until she takes him home, or somewhere safe for what I’m going to do.

To her home, not his. His home is with me, with his mother. She is not his mother. She is no one. I don’t understand why she has had him for this long. Where is Kevin? Why isn’t he taking care of our son?

Our son. He is so amazing. I don’t know how long it has been since I have seen him, but I know he will remember me. He’s having such a good time; she is pushing him on the swing. I know he is enjoying it because he is laughing. What a majestic sound. I have missed him.

I want to get closer, but I don’t want her to see me. I don’t want them to leave, I will have to find him all over again. She has stolen him from me, and I am here to collect what is mine, what was never hers to take.

It is time for him to come home. Come home, where he belongs, where his room is, next to mine. Mine and Kevin’s, what a joke that was.

I haven’t been back there since I left the hospital. They let me out, what did they expect? I’m going to find my son; they shouldn’t have made it so easy if they didn’t want me to see him, with her. He belongs to me; they can’t just let her have him.

I didn’t want to be there, at the house, with all of his stuff, and remember that he’s not there with me.

I am ready to take care of him again; I don’t care what they say. I am his mother, and he belongs with me. I am perfectly capable of taking care of my own son. Nobody knows him like I do. How does nobody get that? He is mine, and I want him back.
She can have Kevin. She took him from me as well, but all I want is my son back. Kevin should have never left, I needed him, but that’s over now. He wants to be with her, fine, but I want my son back, and he can’t do anything about it.

He’s wearing little light-up shoes when he steps they shoot colors all over the sole of his foot. He laughs, and jumps, then smiles at her. He has my smile, even though I haven’t seen mine in a while. It’s the same as his grandfather’s; I can’t wait to share that with him one day.

I need to get him back; it has been too long.

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For the Kids

I recently read the first book to a series I loved reading as a child. Even though the 80 page book was a quick luxury, I don’t think I will be continuing the series. If you ever want to relive a story you thought was wonderful in your childhood, remember that you have (or should have) matured as a person and as a reader. Lemony Snicket is an amazing author and The Series of Unfortunate Events: The Bad Beginning is a great book. However, he makes it very obvious it is a series for a young crowd. And this is a good thing. Most children don’t understand the same things and don’t read on the same level that adults do. Therefore, there does need to be books directed towards only children.

I think children’s books writers are incredibly talented because they have the ability to go back to when they were children and think about what was interesting at that point and what words or phrases were understandable. I really liked Snicket’s in-text definitions and examples  of  words that might be a little hard to understand the meaning of for his young audience. To me as an adult reader I thought it made the story more relate-able, so it must really help kids get into the story. I think a big reason why people are discouraged as children to read books and later in life don’t enjoy them is because they couldn’t understand what authors were trying to tell them. Some may think children’s books writers may have the easiest job in the writing industry, but I think it is the most important one to creating a reading audience. Even though there are exceptions to this case, children are the future; and if children hate to read then what is the future for authors?
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