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Home

HOME

A place where I can go

To take this off my shoulders

Someone take me home

I thought it would hurt more... You know? Dying. But honestly, I almost feel relieved. Gojo Satoru thought, smiling.

I have no remorse. I died fighting. A fitting end for a jujutsu sorcerer. Right? He carried on with that stupid reasoning, as he always had.

He had a blurry vision of an airport, but somehow that didn't seem important. It was just a dream. There were a lot of people there, and they chatted a bit, laughing together before each of them moved out to different terminals.

The laughter was fake.

Nobody was happy.

It was always fake.

He was always pretending.

He was always lying to himself, saying that he had done the right thing.

I am the strongest. He repeated it. Was he?

I was right. That was another lie.

He didn't close his eyes and kept staring at the sky above him.

You're alone when you die. The thought echoed in his head.

Suguru was there... Gojo thought, remembering the dream of the airport.

You're alone when you die. That was the truth.

But what if that wasn't the truth? Could it have been different?

I want to go home. That was supposedly his last though.

The sky above his head remained the same, and as he started fixedly to that sky, the clouds began to shift. The days changed. Was he moving forward or backwards? Where was he going?

Home

A place where I can go

To take this off my shoulders

Someone take me home (let's go)

(Someone take me)

I am the strongest. That's what he always said.

But I lost. It was so frustrating, and yet, it was also liberating. He didn't have to win anymore.

It was over.

The lie was over.

It was finally over.

The life without a home to go back to was over.

He could stop lying.

Someone take me home. He wished.

The clouds in the sky stopped moving. He blinked a couple of times, and he felt his old round glasses around his eyes. He blinked again, and the sunlight was softened through the dark lenses.

Where am I? He wondered. The floor beneath him felt softer. It was not stone, it was grass.

He should be dead. He didn't want to be dead. But the life he had been living was also not so worthy. He had no place to come back to. He had no home. His home had left him, gone where he could not follow.