The lights went out and what was once a wonderfully amazing place to be in, suddenly became hauntingly quiet and eerie. The back door creaked to a close with a banging sound that had such finality to it, would I be stuck in this foreboding place forever?
My grandfather lived in southern Illinois, in a small community, that did boast of having a Wal-Mart however. The economy of the town was depressed though, and several people ended up destitute and poor. So he decided to set up and run a rescue mission to reach out to those in need financially, emotionally, physically and spiritually. In the old building by the railroad tracks, there was a part that was dedicated to housing the indigent and those that were too plain drunk go home for the night.
The other part of the building was a store, where people dropped off their castoffs and unwanted items for resale, that helped to fund the mission. It was in this dated old store that my traumatic experience took place. I was visiting my grandfather and he took me to work that day and let me play in the store, and even get an ice cold coke out of the vending machine. There was a particular toy that I was enjoying playing with, so I asked him , flashing him my cute look, if he would buy it for me, and he told me no. I was devastated. It only cost a quarter and I did not think that an exorbitant amount to spend on your favorite granddaughter. So I sat there and played with it under the clothes shelf. Until he closed the store without realizing that I was still in it.
I ran to the back door and banged on it, hoping for some form of rescue. It seemed to take a lifetime, until someone finally heard my cries and pleas for help, and unlocked the door that had imprisoned me. In reality it was probably only 5 minutes, but little girls with big imaginations can picture lots of scary things in the dark of that old store engulfing them, until grandpa finally came to the rescue.
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