My poetry and short stories

Coming home

I can feel every bump and every crack in the road under me. I can hear the family members screaming and crying over the load engines of the plane. When I walk off the plane and into the building I see my family. They are smiling but crying and waving. I can smell the other men and women's dirt, sweat and tears. All the songs we've played to scare all the people out of the buildings still ring in my Memory. They were crying, screaming pleading us to stop the music. I had control over the music. I couldn't stop the music. Back In the building I could still see my family. I could see my baby sister; all grown up, ever so pretty. All the men and women I was on the plane with had to go through screenings and bag checks. When I got my bags back I started to walk toward the windows where I saw my baby sister. I felt a hand take mine. It was cold and soft with a familiar 2 inch scar. I looked up the arm and saw my baby sister's face. She pulling me through the crowd of people to my parents. As we got closer I could feel tears rolling down my cheeks. When we got to my parents, I held them close. After the last person got checked, head master let everyone go home. I raced my baby sister to the car. I keep forgetting how much faster she is than me. I hopped in the passenger side back seat with my bag between my legs. I kept staring at my baby sister. I cant believe how much she has grown up. On our way home I told them the stories about the military and how the Middle East was