In front of him was a turn in the unnamed road, a small fork to another nameless road on his series of nameless roads that might somehow, someday, lead him home. Wherever that was. He'd been driving for so long that all he remembered of home was a little red door, a thatched roof and four elderly women arm-in-arm and smiling at the camera.
He didn't know who they were exactly but he felt like he'd known them all his life and all the lives before. He didn't know exactly where they were but he felt that if he took enough turns and found enough new roads he might stumble upon a familiar one. He didn't know when this would happen but he felt like it could be any day now.
He felt that almost two hundred days ago and he felt it still, that vague anticipation of everything and nothing being seconds away from his grasp. He'd been so intensely focused on this feeling that he drove right past a small thatched house with a smaller red door.
The brakes were sharper than he remembered them being, though he struggled to remember the last time he had to stop... or sleep... or eat. None of that mattered though, not when home was a few metres away and those four elderly women might still be inside waiting for him.
As soon as he opened the car door, he felt actual air on his face and remembered when he breathed his last.
As soon as he took his first step he remembered the sound his legs made when they broke.
As soon as he opened the little red door he remembered it should have been white.
Four elderly women looked up from the bloodied lump covered by hand-knitted blankets and wept.
He was home.
He didn't know who they were exactly but he felt like he'd known them all his life and all the lives before. He didn't know exactly where they were but he felt that if he took enough turns and found enough new roads he might stumble upon a familiar one. He didn't know when this would happen but he felt like it could be any day now.
He felt that almost two hundred days ago and he felt it still, that vague anticipation of everything and nothing being seconds away from his grasp. He'd been so intensely focused on this feeling that he drove right past a small thatched house with a smaller red door.
The brakes were sharper than he remembered them being, though he struggled to remember the last time he had to stop... or sleep... or eat. None of that mattered though, not when home was a few metres away and those four elderly women might still be inside waiting for him.
As soon as he opened the car door, he felt actual air on his face and remembered when he breathed his last.
As soon as he took his first step he remembered the sound his legs made when they broke.
As soon as he opened the little red door he remembered it should have been white.
Four elderly women looked up from the bloodied lump covered by hand-knitted blankets and wept.
He was home.
No comments:
Post a Comment