It had been four hours since Elliot had last spoken to anybody at all. He sat in his bedroom on his beanbag, reading a very interesting superman hardback book with four hundred pages from lots of different superman comics that he bought the day before. The warm night air drifted through his open window. Suddenly he became aware of how long he had been sitting on the beanbag because his bum had went to sleep.
"Hmph."
He walked over to the landing and peered over his balcony to the big grandfather clock. It read eight o'clock.
"What the…? Michael said he was just going out for a couple of hours."
Suddenly Elliot felt creeped. Why hadn't his mother phoned him? She could of, to say she was going to be home later than expected, but she hadn't. Suddenly he began getting dark thoughts. What if she had been murdered? What if Michael had been kidnapped? Endless terrible thoughts started to flood his mind. Elliot started to panic. He began to shake and became white. He felt sick. The first thought before retching is to run to the bathroom. So he did.
Leaning over the toilet, Elliot retched for about several minutes before convincing himself he wasn't going to puke. He rinsed his white face in the sink before staggering out onto the landing again and grabbing a towel to dry his face.
"I'll go and get some fresh air." He said, "That'll help me."
He walked down the stairs, holding onto the railing for support, and into the kitchen. He looked out the floor to ceiling windows and looked at the glass door before pushing it open.
Elliot sat slumped on the porch step, looking up at the night sky.
"I need you, E.T." He whispered, "Where are you?"
He sat there for half an hour, before catching a glimpse of a shooting star.
Smiling weakly, Elliot spoke, "I wish— I wish that, I could see you again, E.T. I hope wishing on that shooting star will give me more chance of that."
Elliot sucked in all the air he could manage, before letting it out slowly. He felt better, and hungry.