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Rated: ASR · Short Story · Cultural · #1931467
A short story about a broken home and a boy's quest for something more.
He stood in the door no words to be said. Looking over his shoulder he saw his everything and his nothing.  The world behind him, a world of love and hate, was gone. Everything standing behind him like pieces of a puzzle that would never fit. He know in the deepest corners of his heart, that he could be more then this place. Slowly he looked forward into the darkness, and he saw nothing.

Seconds ticked by, but time was at a standstill. As he stood there tightness grew in his heart, and he looked for words. None came, so instead he spit on the ground. Blood and spittle mixed, like fire and ice losing their intensity. The broken home behind him, love and hate, made him emotionless. Like water he could move and adjust, like water he could take any shape he needed to, like water he could be strong and persistent enough to move mountains. He was the product of love and hate.

He could hear door close as he walked away. His small bag slung over his shoulder. He knew he wouldn't be missed. The old man will yell then hide in his work and beer. The lady may sob, but she would find solace in her wine and chocolates. As for his brother, young as he was, he was as tough and callous as the rest of them combined. He was smart enough to go somewhere, but too lazy to make things happen. Maybe this would wake them all up, maybe now something can be made of their lives. Maybe this would fix the puzzle.

He lowered his head as we walked, and he saw the dirty street below his feet. His bag was light and his head was empty. The miles flew by as night turned to day, then day to night. He found himself tired and alone, but no regrets where had. Smiling he sat on a bench with a new type of calm in his soul. To be free and alone was like nothing like home. Waking on the same bench a new day and sun on his face. He stood, and his heart felt light and bright. He was going to make world know his name. A sign showed him where to go and he went, a man to told him to sing and he did.

Months turned to years. Signs showed his face, and records danced to his words. He had everything and he had nothing. He cut his hair and changed his name, his words were new to the world. His face was a portrait of success. His name was hope for everyone. With all this he still never found what he was looking for. He looked everywhere for that missing piece of his soul. He felt like he was a puzzle that was missing a piece and it tore him apart. Until one day he found himself in an alley having stumbled out of the bar he found a man. A callous man smart enough to play people but too lazy to work. Someone who woke to the loss of everything. The son of a broken home. The knife plunged deep and as he fell into darkness he heard the word as if whispered in his ears by angel's lips, "Welcome home."
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