HOME | DD

Description
Thinking back, she could remember a time when she hated this place. She hated the weather, she hated the people, she just hated it. Funnily enough, the hate she had once felt was pale in comparison to the heartache that came with the thought of leaving now. Crazy, the difference one year could make.

Dread. That was what she had felt during her very first walk through this lazy, rundown neighbourhood. It was, ironically, the same emotion she was feeling now, on her final walk down the same sandy paths she'd grown to love. That dread, though, now felt like a different emotion entirely. For the dread no longer sprouted from her staying here, but leaving. She watched the dust that snaked upwards around her legs with the same intent as an artist, analysing an ancient masterpiece. Each step that put her further from her starting point unsettled more of the delicate sand from its resting place on the desert floor.

Though the sun took its place in the centre of the vast pool of emptiness that was the clear blue sky, drunken slurs emanated from the dilapidated watering hole across the road. There was once a time when she would turn her nose up at the rustic locals, who's daily routine strayed rarely from withering the hours away by sinking into the bottom of a whiskey glass, but now she called these people her friends. As she passed the familiar building, the scent of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper booze assaulted her, a smell that felt strangely nostalgic. Clinking glasses and rowdy voices seemed to merge and tangle into a web of noise that was ever changing but somehow always sounded the same.

She vaguely took notice of the reddening in her skin, a warm blush that crept along her arms and shoulders. A souvenir from the sun that constantly beat down during the long days. The sounds of the bar were fading now, as she continued on her way, instead replaced by the distant sound of cars that inevitably passed over the freeway that resided close enough to hear, but not to see. A constant reminder of civilisation, something that felt sparse in this desert.

Without a thought, she raised a freckled arm to give a half-hearted wave to her neighbour. A sweet elderly lady, with leathery skin and wiry hair, who always seemed to wear that same mint green dress with the floral pattern. The lady called a friendly "Hello Laura!", before turning her attention back to the book in her hands. She wasn't actually called Laura, she just didn't have the heart the correct her.

As she took her final steps towards the trailer at the end of street, a lump rose in her throat. She paused in front of the dusty garden, taking in for a final time the sparse desert lilies that dotted the ground. Her eyes wandered over the dishevelled garden furniture, the sun-faded plastic chairs and table, that sat in the shadow cast by the corrugated tin box that had served as her home for the past year. The walls that had once housed her belongings were now empty and abandoned, the contents now packed away in boxes, stacked up in the bed of the truck that sat patiently on her driveway. With a low sigh she meandered towards the vehicle and slid into the driver's seat, closing the door behind her with a heavy clunk. The engine sputtered to life after a number of failed attempts to get the unreliable back of bolts to respond. The worn tires rolled backwards out of the driveway, stirring up the dessert floor and creating mini sand storms.

She gave one last look in her rear-view mirror at her home. Her old home. And just like that, she turned the page onto the next chapter of her life.

Description
Thinking back, she could remember a time when she hated this place. She hated the weather, she hated the people, she just hated it. Funnily enough, the hate she had once felt was pale in comparison to the heartache that came with the thought of leaving now. Crazy, the difference one year could make.

Dread. That was what she had felt during her very first walk through this lazy, rundown neighbourhood. It was, ironically, the same emotion she was feeling now, on her final walk down the same sandy paths she'd grown to love. That dread, though, now felt like a different emotion entirely. For the dread no longer sprouted from her staying here, but leaving. She watched the dust that snaked upwards around her legs with the same intent as an artist, analysing an ancient masterpiece. Each step that put her further from her starting point unsettled more of the delicate sand from its resting place on the desert floor.

Though the sun took its place in the centre of the vast pool of emptiness that was the clear blue sky, drunken slurs emanated from the dilapidated watering hole across the road. There was once a time when she would turn her nose up at the rustic locals, who's daily routine strayed rarely from withering the hours away by sinking into the bottom of a whiskey glass, but now she called these people her friends. As she passed the familiar building, the scent of cheap cigarettes and even cheaper booze assaulted her, a smell that felt strangely nostalgic. Clinking glasses and rowdy voices seemed to merge and tangle into a web of noise that was ever changing but somehow always sounded the same.

She vaguely took notice of the reddening in her skin, a warm blush that crept along her arms and shoulders. A souvenir from the sun that constantly beat down during the long days. The sounds of the bar were fading now, as she continued on her way, instead replaced by the distant sound of cars that inevitably passed over the freeway that resided close enough to hear, but not to see. A constant reminder of civilisation, something that felt sparse in this desert.

Without a thought, she raised a freckled arm to give a half-hearted wave to her neighbour. A sweet elderly lady, with leathery skin and wiry hair, who always seemed to wear that same mint green dress with the floral pattern. The lady called a friendly "Hello Laura!", before turning her attention back to the book in her hands. She wasn't actually called Laura, she just didn't have the heart the correct her.

As she took her final steps towards the trailer at the end of street, a lump rose in her throat. She paused in front of the dusty garden, taking in for a final time the sparse desert lilies that dotted the ground. Her eyes wandered over the dishevelled garden furniture, the sun-faded plastic chairs and table, that sat in the shadow cast by the corrugated tin box that had served as her home for the past year. The walls that had once housed her belongings were now empty and abandoned, the contents now packed away in boxes, stacked up in the bed of the truck that sat patiently on her driveway. With a low sigh she meandered towards the vehicle and slid into the driver's seat, closing the door behind her with a heavy clunk. The engine sputtered to life after a number of failed attempts to get the unreliable back of bolts to respond. The worn tires rolled backwards out of the driveway, stirring up the dessert floor and creating mini sand storms.

She gave one last look in her rear-view mirror at her home. Her old home. And just like that, she turned the page onto the next chapter of her life.