Home. It is a word you never really use but you think about it a lot.
I think about it more than most people do.

I wish I was home. Just the thought of actually seeing my home in a few years made me hysterical. I’m 15 now and when I finally get my drivers license I’m out of this rugged old house. Where my home is, most people would cringe at the sight of where I live. They would rather live in some big, old fancy mansion.

But I don’t


I cannot wait to smell the fresh cow manure, and hay. See all the livestock and hear the rooster calling in the morning.

On that crisp fall morning, that was the last time I saw my mom. I was taken away by childcare and sent into 5 different families before I actually stayed in this one. I don’t understand why my mother couldn’t take care of us. There were only 3 of us; my two brothers and me. We were very well behaved so my mom did have to handle too much.

But then, she got addicted to heroin and couldn’t stop. It was awful to see her like that. Train tracks running down her arms like fresh blood of a new kill.

My mom was then sent into rehabilitation for a year or two. That’s how I got here.



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Finally I can drive now. I leave a note on my bedside saying that I have left to find what my purpose in life is.

I’m lying.

I have been learning to drive the old truck that sits in our driveway. Nobody uses it so chose to leave with it.


My home is just a few hours away from here if I drive fast. Surely the cops won’t be out since it’s around 1 in the morning. I couldn’t go to sleep at the thought of leaving to find my real home.

I almost fall asleep when I reach a big lit-up sign that says “Big Curve Acres”

I drive up the lane seeing a big rusty farmhouse.

The lights are on so there must be someone home. I walk in the door to find that nobodies home. I see ghostly figures of my two brothers and my mom playing by the fire. Where’s me in this picture?

Tears start to run down my face. I turn and walk out of the house

I get in the truck and drive away. This is not my real home.