Monkey Pants was lost. It wasn't the first time and it wouldn't be the last that Naila had left him in the middle of some place or other to do whatever it is that two year olds do. He was used to it.
At some point, she would inevitably feel his absence, the joy would drain from her eyes (replaced by horror) and she would scream for him at the top of her lungs. Then the manhunt would begin.
Every adult within range would be conscripted to the search party. Furniture would be shifted, laundry piles tossed, pets interrogated. The difference this time was that his disappearance had not occurred at home.
He should not have been on the bus in the first place and from his vantage point under one of the seats, his prospects of a speedy return (or any return at all) looked rather grim.
I can't seem to upload an image from pixabay.com today. Weird.
But anyway, head on over here for the details and prompt to write your own freewrite today.
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