A week of driving has led me to this, crawling back on my hands and knees in the dead of night. Two years wasted, relationships failed. Stubbornly desperate to spread my wings, do this thing called life completely on my own.
I tried. I failed. Now fleeing the sandy white beaches of the Gulf for the water logged forests of the Pacific Northwest.
They begged me to stay, to not make this mistake in the name of young love.
Anticipating an “I told you so” fight, my mother teared up, opened her arms, and held me.
I was home.
This blog post is part of Charli Mill’s Flash Fiction Challenge issued by Carrot Ranch Communications. September 30, 2015 prompt: In 99 words (no more, no less) write a story about a return to home. What does it mean to return? Is it to reconnect, discover or let go? It can be a town, house, farm, castle or ruins. It can be a country or family, one of origin or one adopted. What does the return impart?