• I hate driving. I hate driving toward something i know for certain won't be an enjoyable experience for anyone. But it is a necessity i get there. Isn't life funny like that? When you have to do something you really don't want to do? When fate keeps dishing up trainwreck after trainwreck, and you just simply can't walk away. You have to face it, and keep strong; maybe even for others, not just yourself.
    I can feel the elusive pull toward that familiar house just on the other side of this town. My heart skitters everytime i recognize a face, as it was one of those 'everyone-knows-everyone' kind of places. A pretty village, in the middle of nowhere. Glossy green fields make up the landscape, with the occasional blip of a hill. There goes my heart again, as i pass that old cafe i used to always go to. I wonder if the mean old guy took over in the end? But it doesn't matter now. I cannot stop to remember, or I'll surely be interrupted by some old friend or foe.. or something. I catch the reflection of myself in a window, noting that my long blonde hair, tanned slim body, and big dark typical 'celebrity-in-hiding' sunglasses will probably mean that they will have no idea who i am; just some blonde bimbo passing by. Not the plump, bespectacled know it all who would sooner sit with a book than party, that i used to be . No, i just have to get to that house.
    It didn't take long to reach the long, winding gravel drive. I used to love the sound of the crunch as the powerful tyres simply ploughed through the little stones. Now it just annoyes me.The stinging in my eyes and lump in my throat reminds me where i am, and why i'm here. It is a magnificent house; they had kept it in a good shape over the years. But i guess that'll probably change now won't it? The butterflies in my stomach make me feel like i want to turn around, and jump back into that car and drive off faster than you can say 'welcome home'. But numbly, i step up those porch steps put my hand on the door. I'm sure I've been frozen like this for quite a while now, but i just keep losing my train of thought.
    Upon opening the door, my gaze immediately falls on the small women curled up on his favourite armchair. I had argued with this women so many times, left this house in a temper so many times that i had lost count. Always hearing those patronizing words 'she'll be back' before i slammed the door in those smug faces. But that last time i didn't. Since then, no attempts of contact have ever been made from my side, only the occaisonal letter home to say, 'I'm fine, don't look for me', just so they knew i wasn't dead i guess. They didn't want to lose another daughter now did they?
    She looked up, woken from the sudden light in this dark room, her eyes sore and puffy from the crying and sleepless nights.
    'You came back', she whispered. I smiled weakly, and with a voice so hoarse from the suspense, replied, 'I wanted to say my last goodbye'.