Homecoming

The boy chided himself silently as he guided his car ever so slowly down his driveway. He was going home. He fiddled uncertainly with a cigarette before lighting it. What was home anyway? A place to feel safe and comforted? He glared at the small blue-shingled house as it came into view. It wasn't home. It couldn't be home. As a child, he had taken refuge at his friends' houses. But he always insisted there was nothing wrong. It was easy; he had already fed that lie through his system for years. The common sense he possessed warned him not to divulge his secrets. He took a deep puff of cigarette as he felt a strange sensation rack his body. It took hold of him harshly and he coughed as his breath came out in sharp gasps. He felt a lump in his throat and he grabbed his car door to steady himself. Only when his eyes began to prickle did he recognise what was tormenting him. Long ago (or so it seemed to him) he had felt the same sensation. He had sworn it would never happen again. But with the pressure and unease of the past week, he felt an unmistakable burning drop slither down his cheek. He was crying.