Fort Mill, South Carolina
Congratulations, Rebecca!
Rebecca’s Bio:
Rebecca Jens is a Fort Mill, South Carolina resident who decided five years ago she wanted to be a writer. She started by taking a class with the Institute of Children's Literature and then got side-tracked from creative writing to making money at writing. After changing from children's fiction all the way to working part-time as a stringer for a local paper, she decided she was not cut out to be a reporter and wanted to start writing for enjoyment again instead of money. She has since been working her way slowly back to fiction and is excited to see this piece being considered as it is her first official fiction submission anywhere. Her current day job is as a technical writer/editor for a financial company but she is working towards obtaining a Masters degree in English so she can eventually go into teaching and be able to write more. Some day, she hopes to be brave enough to make the leap into full-time writing.
Kidnapped
“Brent? Brent? Brent?!” I heard her call, her voice beginning to shake.
The gently breaking waves and cries of nearby seagulls went unnoticed in her growing panic.
“Have you seen a little boy about four or five with blonde hair and red swimming trunks?” she asked me, sweat dripping from her dark brown locks.
“No, I’m sorry. I haven’t,” I replied, feeling my face growing warm.
She twisted the five-carat diamond ring on her perfectly manicured left hand nervously. She stared at me oddly for a moment before finally rushing off to the next group.
“Please let me know if you do see him,” she called over her shoulder, hurrying to the older couple next to us.
I saw the old woman shake her head at the young lady and then lean over her beach chair, poking her husband in the ribs. He grunted, seemingly annoyed at the disturbance, his back as red as the missing boy’s trunks. Lifting up on one arm, he too shook his head.
“BRENT!” the young woman began screaming.
A ray of sun poked up over my sunglasses and pierced my eye. Its fierceness felt like it would reach my very soul, uncovering my secret.
I turned at the sound of sand crunching behind me, announcing my husband’s approach.
“We’re set,” he said, wiping his brow.
I gathered our things together as quickly and unobtrusively as I could. The crashing waves, once peaceful, now sounded deafening in my ears.
“Is he safe?” I asked, wrapping a towel around me to fight off the sudden chill I felt.
“Yes of course,” my husband snapped. “Hurry up. We’ve got to go now.”
I glanced at the young woman now several families down from us still screaming hysterically and whispered to my husband.
“His name is Brent.”
***