Prompt Word- Ticket, Title- Home In The First Person
Written for the 10 Minute Writing Challenge at hitRECord
**
As I sit down next to her at the table, I can see the small pile of shredded paper slightly obscured by her hands. I managed to catch a glimpse of the printed letters of a town neither of us were anxious to see again. I wouldn't have noticed that this was her ticket home but I have an identical one burning a hole in my back pocket.
I watch as she continues to obliterate her chances of coming home and I feel the knot burning tight in my stomach. I know what this means. It means long hours and even longer weeks of missing her. It means losing her forever. I stand shailky and pull my ticket home from my back pocket. I slap it lightly on the palm of my hand but she doesn't look up.
My knees buckle as I sit back down and hand her my ticket. I watch as she makes the pile at her hands twice as big with her delicate fingers.
That was my ticket home. The thing I didn't realize was I wasn't headed to the home that was some city I never wanted to see again printed on tiny squares of paper. I was sitting with home in the dingy coffee shop ten feet from a bus station.
And home, well... she was beautiful.
**
**
As I sit down next to her at the table, I can see the small pile of shredded paper slightly obscured by her hands. I managed to catch a glimpse of the printed letters of a town neither of us were anxious to see again. I wouldn't have noticed that this was her ticket home but I have an identical one burning a hole in my back pocket.
I watch as she continues to obliterate her chances of coming home and I feel the knot burning tight in my stomach. I know what this means. It means long hours and even longer weeks of missing her. It means losing her forever. I stand shailky and pull my ticket home from my back pocket. I slap it lightly on the palm of my hand but she doesn't look up.
My knees buckle as I sit back down and hand her my ticket. I watch as she makes the pile at her hands twice as big with her delicate fingers.
That was my ticket home. The thing I didn't realize was I wasn't headed to the home that was some city I never wanted to see again printed on tiny squares of paper. I was sitting with home in the dingy coffee shop ten feet from a bus station.
And home, well... she was beautiful.
**