lost and found

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Mystery and Crime  |  House: Booksie Classic

this is kind of a 'pilot' of a possible mystery story i'm gonna try and write. it started as a short story, and now i'm gonna try and flesh it out.

Submitted: July 29, 2018

A A A | A A A

Submitted: July 29, 2018



Lost and Found


My hands rested on my lap, the AC of the plane chilling me to the bone. A series of permission slips and ‘well-earned’ A’s later, I was finally on my way to France, ready to spend the next year as a foreign exchange student in a country I knew little about. There was one issue with this trip; besides my lack of knowledge on the country, I was never even supposed to go on it. I had cheated every test, using bribes to lull the answers out of my classmates. The only way I had passed sophomore year was through trickery and deception. Sure I wasn’t too proud of it, but I had no choice. I needed a break, and for some reason, this was the only place I was willing to go. And there was absolutely no way in heck that I would’ve passed that class on my own. At least my parents are proud of me.


I picked up my bags, my hands slippery with sweat. A wrenching tension filled the air around me, filling me with a dreadful sense of unease. My mind raced in a million directions, this way and that, that way and this, fear flowing through every inch of my veins. What was happening? Why was I freaking out? Was I homesick? Was I in too deep? Was this finally one step too far?


No, there was something else. People were staring, their eyes ripping through me, peering into my soul.

What did they want? Was it just my imagination? The lobby screamed out, the voices of busy people rushing through my mind. Deep breathe in, deep breathe out, in, out, in, out, in, out.

And then I stopped.

I looked over, my friend’s hand resting on my shoulder. My mind began to calm as I looked up at her. She stood there smiling.

“Calm down, it’ll be okay,” She gestured toward the exit, “C’mon, let’s follow the others.”

As I walked through the airport with my friend, I couldn’t shake the feeling as that I was being watched. It was probably my imagination, I thought.


I sat down at the table, resting my bags on the floor. After a 30 min drive on the public bus and countless minutes floundering through conversations, we had arrived at a small cafe. Currently, our chaperone was ordering an espresso to help him ease out of his jet lag. While he coped with his waking existential nightmare, I opened up a soda with my friend as she read the local paper.

My mind was clear now, and the refreshing fizz of French soda helped me relax. I sat back into the chair, its cushioning absorbing my aching body. Speakers set up in the back of the cafe hummed calming Bossa Nova tunes. The sun was setting outside, painting the sky with a series of purples and oranges. As I began to close my eyes, I glanced at the newspaper my friend was reading, and noticed something strange.

On the back of the newspaper was a photo of me as a kid, sitting there plain as day.

My mind began to swirl, my stomach wrenching, filling with butterflies.

I cleared my throat, and with a shaky breathe, asked my friend to translate the headline. And as she recited it, word for word, we both looked at each other in shock. In thick, bold letters, right above my photo, it read ‘Search for Lost Child Still Ongoing’.

And right as we finished reading the article, we heard the police pull in outside.

My mind went into a panic, cause I knew that when they found me, they wouldn’t send me home.

© Copyright 2019 Althera. All rights reserved.

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