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She’d been so impatient to leave everything behind in search of adventure, in search of something more. She used to hate the way the pavement felt underneath her shoes and the way the sky was obscured by trees and terraced houses. She couldn’t stand the dull colours of the brick walls nor the cars parked for an eternity in front of each house. Nothing ever happened here- nobody spoke, nobody visited, and nobody ventured far.
It used to feel like a dead end and she’d physically itch to get the hell away to actually live. But now that she’s faced with the plain white door and the hard path leading up to it, it almost hurts her to say that all that hate had drained away. She was tired. So, so tired. Her bones felt old and hollow; sleeping rough had done nothing positive, along with the endless days filled with walking nowhere at all. Roaming the furthest lands on the edge of nothing was thrilling, have no doubt, as she spent the better part of 3 years seeing things she’d never see elsewhere. But, the edge of the world isn’t safe and it will suck the marrow from your bones if it so desires to. Adventures hold dangers, and fights have stakes. She knows this all too well by now.
She stands as a veteran of death and wandering before a place with none of those things lurking beyond the door. Subconsciously, she realises that hasn’t happened in a very long, long time. Weary arms feel as if lead has melted into the ligaments and soft tissue, bruised and tender under the weathered skin that has seen many blades and cursed fangs. Her legs don’t fare much better, an abstract painting of scars that weren’t there the last time she set foot in the village. Her millionth pair of shoes have met the same fate as all the others too, worn so thin it feels like paper is the only thing separating the earth from the soles of her feet. And a constant cold sensation never faded from her fingers, so chilling that she’d worried many times if they’d become corpses of their own without telling her.
She unclenches those fingers, her eyes having never left the door the whole time she lingered there, thinking. Always thinking. She never thought so much nor with so much care in the youth she had before she turned her back on this place. She mulled that thought over, reluctant to accept that she had changed. But had home? Could she even call it home anymore, after everything?
Consumed by budding anxieties, she noticed too late somebody behind pulled back curtains. But as soon as she did, they were no longer there and rushed fumbling was heard behind the door. She stood there, frozen. She could run. She could turn her back, right now, before this happened. What was she thinking, coming back after everything? Returning to the place she deserted without a second glance, who was she to think that made a good lasting impression? What was she thinking?
You think too much, I want to tell her. If only I could tell her.
White became a hallway, blocked by the body of someone braced on the doorframe with shaky arms. Eye contact was accidental, she didn’t mean to look up, but once she did she knew for certain there was no going back to whatever she’d become. There was no need for it anymore. Not when she’d fallen into their arms with exhausted limbs, her hunger for more satiated and her soul worn down to almost nothing. Not when the feeling of water trickled down from both of their eyes and tasted of salt. Not even when they took a good look at each other with teary smiles, after everything.