The clouds smoked through the night, This was usual in Leicester: subtle winds and cloudy skies. Everything was normal, well, that's what we all thought before all the torture began. But then again what is said 'torture' Is it the blisters from a branch or a sprain from falling to the ground? Now here we are, in the depths of it.
The night was fading slowly as I sat on the trembling train, I watched as the structure of the tall building began to blur. The intoxicating train chased all the dark tunnels and my eyes heavy, I fell asleep. Now fully awake, I wondered where the stop would be, I only wanted to leave to get away from the place I once called home. It wasn't really. It was just full of hatred and sorrow, pain.
Again I stared at the windows, a beautiful sight of a lavender field before me, the day which had just appeared filled the field with mesmerising light and the calming rain fell slowly, as we travelled past the terrain.
I didn't feel anything, but was I meant to? People seemed upset, like they didn't want to leave. Unlike me, I couldn't bear the wretched place I used to call home. Should I had even thought about that 'Home' it wasn't even my home, at least to me it wasn't.
YOU ARE READING
Train to Death's Rail
Non-FictionHome? What is a place you're always safe in? Your home, right? But to me, that's all wrong. I left, would've it been better if I hadn't?
