she-was-lost-for-all-time
Original: she-was-lost-for-all-time on Saturday Morning Breakfast Cereal
Transcript
Panel 1:
Elderly father (in a hospital/sick bed): SON... I HAVEN'T GOT LONG. YOU SHOULD KNOW... YOU HAD A SISTER, BUT... SHE WAS... LOST.
Panel 2:
Son: LOST? HOW DO YOU LOSE A WHOLE KID?
Father: LOST TO US! NEVER TO BE FOUND IN MY LIFETIME!
Panel 3 (father narrating, close on his face):
Father: WE WERE AT THE MALL... IT WAS CHRISTMAS... VERY CROWDED... I THINK MAYBE SHE WAS IN A BALL PIT...
Panel 4:
Father (lying in bed, gesturing dramatically): THE FOG OF TIME ENSHROUDED HER, AND WE SAW HER NO MORE.
Panel 5:
Son: SO...
Father: THE MALL CALLED LATER THAT EVENING WHEN THEY FOUND HER, BUT... WE HAD ALREADY DRIVEN HOME, AND TRAFFIC WAS TERRIBLE.
Panel 6:
Father: DO NOT THINK ILL OF ME, FOR-
Son: NO, NO. NOBODY LIKES CHRISTMAS TRAFFIC.
Votey:
Father (continuing): I WOULDN'T HAVE EVEN TAKEN THE PHONECALL.
Elderly father (in a hospital/sick bed): SON... I HAVEN'T GOT LONG. YOU SHOULD KNOW... YOU HAD A SISTER, BUT... SHE WAS... LOST.
Panel 2:
Son: LOST? HOW DO YOU LOSE A WHOLE KID?
Father: LOST TO US! NEVER TO BE FOUND IN MY LIFETIME!
Panel 3 (father narrating, close on his face):
Father: WE WERE AT THE MALL... IT WAS CHRISTMAS... VERY CROWDED... I THINK MAYBE SHE WAS IN A BALL PIT...
Panel 4:
Father (lying in bed, gesturing dramatically): THE FOG OF TIME ENSHROUDED HER, AND WE SAW HER NO MORE.
Panel 5:
Son: SO...
Father: THE MALL CALLED LATER THAT EVENING WHEN THEY FOUND HER, BUT... WE HAD ALREADY DRIVEN HOME, AND TRAFFIC WAS TERRIBLE.
Panel 6:
Father: DO NOT THINK ILL OF ME, FOR-
Son: NO, NO. NOBODY LIKES CHRISTMAS TRAFFIC.
Votey:
Father (continuing): I WOULDN'T HAVE EVEN TAKEN THE PHONECALL.
Alt text
A six-panel comic. An old, frail father lies in a sickbed wearing glasses, speaking to his adult son (a man with brown hair in a red shirt). The father confesses with great gravity that the son once had a sister who was 'lost' — 'never to be found in my lifetime.' As the son asks how you lose a whole kid, the father melodramatically narrates the tragedy: they were at a crowded mall at Christmas, the girl was maybe in a ball pit, and 'the fog of time enshrouded her, and we saw her no more.' The somber mood deflates when the father admits the mall called that evening saying they'd found her, but the family had already driven home 'and traffic was terrible.' He begs, 'Do not think ill of me, for-' and the son reassures him, 'No, no. Nobody likes Christmas traffic.' Votey: a close-up of the dying father finishing his thought — 'I wouldn't have even taken the phonecall.'
Transcribed by Claude Opus 4.8.