Just something I wrote, a friend's idea...
It was Tuesday, and once again, the boy James was spending his day in his mother's workplace. Only five, he would be going to school next year, but for now had to stick with his mother (the single mother) during the days. It wasn't anything to him- he had no friends in his neighborhood, as he never saw them, but he expected to make friends in the upcoming year and saw no terrible problem in waiting a little bit. His mother was always patient with him, after all. He could be patient with the situation, at least.
Running about through the halls, an old man yells at him to settle down and gets to his feet, following the child and screaming at him angrily. The boy James grinned happily, running further and quicker, captivated by the simple joys of youth. Seeing a closet, the boy approached it and hid within it, smothering his giggles as the old man approached.
"Where are you, little brat? Get on, or I'll grab you by your collar and demand that your mother stop bringing her scruffy child to a workplace of adults! What of parenting these days…don't you have a father or something? Women shouldn't sleep with men who will just drop them at the first sign of trouble!" The man stormed away. James pressed himself to the ground, carefully listening for any sign of the man still being there. After he was certain that the man was gone, he reached for the handle to the door. It wouldn't open.
The boy became quickly frustrated with the devilish contraption, pounding his fist into the door and screaming at the top of his lungs. But he was a five year old boy- the top of his lungs wasn't very high and he couldn't see to the top of this door that loomed before him like the Lady Liberty leading him to freedom if he could just get through because he was a child and there was no way he was getting out without some help.
But then he heard footsteps. He began to think that someone had heard him and had come for him and against the logic that you would have expected he quieted down instead of banging on that door harder to reach his freedom. Two people stopped in front of the closet. He heard their voices- it was his mother and one of her co-workers.
"MOM!" he shouted, banging on the door. Neither adult seemed to hear him.
"Jason…" his mother muttered. "I'm dying. I have cancer and I'm dying."
James slipped, crashing to the ground. He stayed there, not bothering to get to his feet to resist the door further, his head falling back. He needed his mom. She was all he had. When his dad had died when he was only two his mom had to explain to him what death meant and it was the hardest thing to understand but losing her too was too much.
"Jason, I need you…need you to take care of my son. Make sure he gets into a good foster home once I'm gone. Please, he's all I have." His mother was crying. James, his mommy, the strongest woman in the world in his view of the world with his big eyes and active imagination and happy personality that filled a room faster than air ever could. She was going to be gone too and there was nothing he could do.
They were gone before he remembered to bang on the door, to get his freedom from the cellar of his memories and sadness that this small closet had become.
It took a few more hours, when he heard his mother collapse to the ground and that man Jason tell somebody to call an ambulance and that stuffy angry old man packing up his items as if nothing was happening, for him to realize that he was never getting out.