The glass feels cold against my face as I watch the lights on the bridge as we pass by. I close my eyes and breathe in. I can smell the scent that lets me know, I'm home. It is the distinct mixture of the saltwater and the acrid smoke that came from the nearby paper mill. One whiff and everything just seems to melt away. All of the stress and worry goes away. Memories begin to play before my eyes. I can still feel the sand beneath my feet as I run, chasing my friends as we plunge into the water, carefree. Those were the good times. The laughs we had as we tried, and failed, to skimboard. The cries of the seagulls as we scared them as we ran through the cluster, gathered along the water. The wet sand fights that would always result from our attempts to build sandcastles. It's great to look back at these times. When we were so happy, without a care in the world, oblivious to the world around us, and what lay ahead. I am shaken awake. The voice says to me, "Wake up babe. We're home." I sigh and lean back. This is not my home. My home is where the smell of the paper mill and saltwater is, where the gentle crashing of the waves on the shore signals that everything is going to be alright. Home is where I can be that child again, always chasing the sun. This is not my home.
YOU ARE READING
Welcome To My Brain
Short StoryA collection of a few short stories I have written, or are writing. I thought maybe I'd try to actually write something and see what happens. I hope you enjoy.
