Charlie spent the remainder of the day trying to take my mind off of my experience. The first thing we did was go to the park. It seemed like a boring way to start off a day of adventure, I'll admit, but it soon turned out to be much more exciting then I had expected.
It all began with us skipping stones in a little stream at the end of the park. When that got boring, it eventually became a bit of a contest to see which one of us get our rocks the farthest down the stream. Charlie went first. He chucked his pebble about thirty feet down. Next, I threw mine. It landed in almost exactly the same spot. As you might expect, this turned into a huge argument about whose made it farther.
"I won." Charlie said, smirking.
"Are you nuts?" I mocked, "Mine went two inches farther."
"No," Charlie insisted, "They landed in almost the same spot. Mine hit about an inch away from yours."
"Yeah, an inch before mine..."
"No," My friend grumbled, "It clearly landed an inch farther."
"Dude," I stated firmly, "Your splash was there. Mine was over there. Therefore, my rock landed over there."
Charlie tackled me, and we both fell into the water. We rolled around for a few minutes, punching each other wildly. After a while, we got up. With bloody faces and soaked clothing, we agreed that fighting over rocks was stupid. So, we grabbed larger rocks, to make it more obvious whose went the farthest. We both threw at the same time.
We followed the stream to see where the stones fell. We found them laying side-by-side. Calling a truce, we turned to go back. We then heard an abrupt noise coming from the woods that were beside the stream. This made me jump in fear, causing me to fall backward into a tree. Charlie, who normally would have laughed, said nothing, for he knew why I was startled. Instead, he grabbed my arm, and gently pulled me to my feet.
Carefully, we went to locate the source of the sound. At first, we found nothing. Then, about a hundred feet in, we found someone.
It was a boy who was around our age. He was sitting on the ground, and leaning against the trunk of a tree. He was breathing heavily, as if he had been running for a long distance. He wore normal street clothes, but they looked as if he had been wearing them for a while; they were covered in dirt and forest debris. This was weird, in itself, but it became even stranger once I realized that I knew him.
His name was Tommy Mason. He'd been missing since Wednesday, which naturally made us jump to conclusions. Yet, here he was.
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