Magazine, website & books written by teens since 1989

Home Again

By , Zebulon, NC
The ground is cold and hard beneath my bare and battered feet. I have walked this road far too many times. I feel as alone as the wolves that call in the night. I am scared, but not for myself. I am scared for the ones that are coming next. I am already here, I have nothing to be frightened about, but the ones who are being beaten and taken away from their homes, family, and friends, those are the ones who I am scared for. I have been there, I know how it feels to be drug by the hair of your head out of your house. I remember now, my sister's peircing scream, as they drug me away. I remember how the air tasted that night, dry and polluted by the mens presence. I can hear shot of the gun that robbed my mother of her last breath.

We were all we had. We were all we ever had and still that was stolen too. I remember choking on the dust then being hit by a man with a belt because I was coughing. They tortured me. I was raped and forced to do many things for them that I didn't want to do. Each time I refused they cut another hole in me.

I fear that I am the only one left on this earth. Now I return to where my home was. I havn't seen anyone for days or maybe weeks. The earth is dry as the desert plians of Africa. I hope to find someone at my old house. I hope that Melanie is there. I miss her so much.

I turn the corner onto my old street and depression and anger fill my lungs. I don't understand how nothing but hate for a different race can start a war that ended like this.


I shudder as I remember how I used to be. I was a selfish girl who thought that just because I had a pretty face I could get anything I wanted. I used to tell Melanie that she was worthless and wasn't going to make a difference in this world. I would take it back if I could. I caused my mother so much pain. I hate myself for that.

After the war started we had no choice but to become close to each other. I remember how even when times were rough Mel would always make the best out of it. When Mom was sick and couldn't get out of bed, she used to tell me it would be okay. I think that sometimes just because she believed it would be, it was. I on the other hand believed in the worst. Everytime Mom would get sick I would tell myself this was the end, she was going to die then me and Mel would have to find our own way out.

The day Mommma told us to run and leave her there, was the day that they came for us. We were the last ones to make it alive in our neighborhood. Everyone had either died of sickness or had been killed or taken away.

By the time me and Mel were born, this country was nothing but hatred and jelousy. We had never known America was ever different. I think thats why I was the way I was. In this world that I lived in there were two different people, optimist and pessimist. And I was a pessimist.

I stop in front of my old house. It looks worse than it did when we left. The war started after my generation was born so I never knew my father, never met him. All I knew was that he died in the war when me and Mel were four.

I walk up the creaking wooden steps. One folds under my weight and I cut my self on the wood. I barely notice it though. I just keep on walking. I stand in front of the door for a few minuetes before going in. I twist the knob gently. The door swings open and slams into the wall behind it.

I make my bare feet go forward onto the blood stained carpet. I walk into the living room. The pillow and blanket weren't there when we were taken. Someones been here recently.

I am suddenly terrified. My stomach twist and turns nauseatingly. I hope that it is my sister but there's still a possibility that it's a stranger.

As I round the corner into my old room someone grabs me from behind and throws me down onto the ground. He has hold of my hair but isn't pulling it. I stop fighting to get free. He is holding me down. I don't scream because I have learned that only makes things worse. There's no one around to hear me anyways.

I open my eyes to look into someone elses deep, blue irises. Something about his eyes were so familiar. I looked at his face. He was pale and had golden hair. I couldn't put a name to the face. I felt like I had met him before.

"Are you one of them?" He asks me.

"No, are you?" I said.

"I don't believe you." He replies. He is very calm for someone who is thinking about killing me.

"Well I don't believe you." I say just as calmly.

"I'm not." He says.

"Yea right. That's what they all say. If you're going to kill me just do it and make it..." I cut off short because a familliar figure appeared in the doorway to my old room.

"What's going..." The voice of my sister starts to ask but cuts herself off short once she see's me pinned on the floor. She runs over me to me and the familliar stranger lets go of me. She hugs me to her chest as hard as she can and I feel at home. The loneliness vanishes and the hole in my chest closes up.





Post a Comment

Be the first to comment on this article!

bRealTime banner ad on the left side
Site Feedback