Photo Prompt by Roka Walsh
They say you can never go home again and I never believed that to be true. Home was in my heart, in my blood, in my soul; no one could take that from me.
But as my tires crunched down the gravel path and the pines towered overhead my breath left me. Claustrophobia washed over me in a sickening wave, compressing my lungs, shocking my limbs. I slammed on the brake. A cloud of dust billowed in the rearview mirror. I rolled the window down and sucked in breath after breath, tasting the damp earth on my tongue, smelling the tang of pines. Smoke from a distant fire stung my nose.
Rather than bringing a rush of warmth and peace, anxiety coursed through my veins. My heart pumped double-time to match the flood of adrenaline.
You can’t make this right. This is no longer your home.
“I know,” I whispered as a tear trailed down my cheek.
* For more photo prompts by Roka Walsh visit the archives at Stories Without Words