Coming Home

The man got off the bus, satchel strapped round his shoulder, minimal, just the way he liked it.

Where the bus let him off was once a time of fun, friendly outgoings. In that moment it’s as if he could see him and his friends running down the street, playing tag and catch, the time and the hours.

It just wasn’t the same anymore and he knew it, could feel it. The street was dead.

He wandered down the road, seeing all the old houses he’d once trudge past on the way to school, it was almost as if he could see a small version of himself wandering before him, nearly visible, his smaller younger version twisting round and running back home, the forgetfulness of his younger self always kicking in and needing to get something he’d left behind at home.

Life was a riddle he always thought, in the choices you have to make, unraveling them and never knowing if it was the right one to make. From his life he never knew the choices choices he’d make would land him with the life he lead.

Pausing, he now saw it, his family home. The lawn overgrown, the fence greyed and chipped, almost falling apart.

A deep breath in as his nerves set, he moved towards the front door of his home, if it still felt like his home. Rather than walk in, he knocked, three time on the white door.

Nothing.

He knocked again as he heard shuffling inside then with a click it opened. There she was, his partner, his wife standing before him still just as beautiful as ever.

“Hey.” He said, still not sure how this was all happening.

“Who is it?” A voice in the background said.

He pulled a puzzled face and she just didn’t know how to react, what to say or do but then the words escaped her.

“What, what are you. I thought you weren’t out for another 2-years?” She said, seeming in a panic.

He shrugged, “Good behaviour, thought I’d surprise you…” He cut off as another man wandered to the door.

“Who is it I said?” The man said as he pulled back the door.

The pair locked eyes. His first thought was, some homecoming this was as he looked down at the tattoo on his hand with 6 lines marking the years he’d spent inside.

He didn’t know what to say, nobody did.

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