The Finder - the start of something new - comments please

A new story began in my head the other night, I'd love some comments.

Gracie -The Finder

 

I am a finder, and as the name suggests we finders find things.

Finding is a natural ability that emerges between the age of two years and six years. By the time I was four my parents were proudly telling everyone in our street that I was a finder. This ability of mine was a surprise because normally it was passed down through generations, but there was no one else in the family, or in our extensive family stories who was a finder.

The majority of finders have one speciality, some two and the very rare finder has three. We are very much in demand in this world of ‘do everything at top speed’, and ‘use whatever short cuts you can to achieve a better life’, better in what way I still haven’t discovered. The general attitude is - why spend some time looking for something or someone when you can pay a finder? And even better why pay a finder if you can coerce or persuade, through whatever means at your disposal, a finder to work for you free gratis?

My parents proud bragging meant, of course, that many in the neighbourhood were jealous and wanted to prove my parents wrong. I was suddenly a very popular little girl, invited into everyone’s home. Finding a babysitter was no longer a problem for my parents, in fact they had a queue of eager people who suddenly had the time, time that they never had before, to look after me.

My dear parents blinded by their pride, excitement and keenness to find out what speciality I had, encouraged me to say ‘yes’ to any requests, without always checking what the people wanted me to find. I remember being asked to find a ‘huge pile of money’, well the town only had three banks at the time so it was quite easy for me to direct my neighbour’s zoomer to the nearest one. I did ask him why he hadn’t thought of it before asking me, it did seem fairly obvious, and I was only four. He wasn’t very happy, he pushed me out of his expensive, fast car saying something about being made a fool of or not and he left me there, in town, in the dark, on my own.

Of course I had no problems finding my way home, although I had never walked the shortest route before. It took me through the, shall I say, interesting part of town, my innocent eyes absorbed many a not so innocent sight. I didn’t understand what I was seeing, but my father turned red in the face when I asked him why some people liked to roll in the streets with not many clothes on, or rub themselves together up against a wall. They didn’t seem very comfortable as most of them were groaning. For a while my parents were more careful who I helped. But they had short memories.