Oliver

It was late winter, with a light sun in the sky and a touch of cold in the air. After almost twenty years, Michael came to spend the holidays in his old bungalow. Once upon a time, this bungalow had many memories of his life. He had not been able to come here for many years due to his busy work schedule, city life and lack of time.

This time he came with his whole family. With his son Richard, daughter-in-law Emily and eight-year-old grandson Oliver, the bungalow seemed to have come back to life. Green trees all around, the roar of the sea in the distance, and the quiet environment all combined to make it a paradise of happiness.

The first few days were spent very happily. In the morning everyone would go for a walk by the sea, in the afternoon they would sit on the veranda and talk, and in the evening they would light a fire and sing songs. Little Oliver was the happiest. He would run around all day, sometimes he would climb trees, sometimes he would play football with his father. But in the midst of that happiness, a terrible darkness descended.

That afternoon, Oliver was playing football with his father in the small open field behind the bungalow. At one point, Richard kicked the ball hard and it flew towards the huge trees behind the bungalow.

“I’ll get it!” Oliver ran away.

Richard waited. He waited for a while but Oliver did not return. At first he thought that the boy might have gone off to play somewhere else.