Reflections by Lynne Lumsden Green

My friend Ben and I loved jumping in puddles; our mothers despaired of our damp and muddy clothes. One day, Ben jumped into a puddle on the footpath and sank up to his armpits.

“Help me,” he screamed. “Something is pulling me down.”

I grabbed at his hand, but I was too late. He disappeared into its depths. I ran for help, but no one believed me. Later that day, when the puddle dried up, it revealed no pit. Just ordinary footpath.

Now days, I don’t jump into puddles. I gaze into them, looking for Ben. I haven’t found him.