Young man

The fear gripped a hold of him once more, stealing away his very breath. His heart hammered in his chest, his throat tight and dry. He couldn’t stop shaking, couldn’t stop the overwhelming fear which had suddenly awoke him. It was too much. He had to stop, he must.

But as the panic attack died down the young man stood shakily off his bed and turned on a light, illuminating his bare apartment. The ‘friend’ he shared it with was out at a rave, one the man didn’t dare go to in his current state. He had to stop this.

But he knew he wouldn’t. He needed it too much.

His head ached, his back and legs cried out in agony as he moved, silently sobbing from the pain. Why did he do this to himself? Why couldn’t he…

My eyes snapped open as the train bumped over the track. My eyes felt heavy as I gazed out the window, a look of lazy content within them.

The memory from five years previous…such memories still haunted me, forever taunting my foolishness and failure to become someone.

But here I am finally, beginning anew, going home after so long.

Home, a word and phrase I’ve whispered to myself for years, but always as a hollow sound. Now I whisper it aloud.

“Home.” And it brings a smile to my lips, one showing past pain, but one now hopeful for what lies ahead in the future.

It’s been six years since I was home. Six. And the first has been for voluntary reasons. I had regretted that more than anything else during my last isolated five years. More than any of it.

I wonder if my dad is still always so busy away from home; or if he kept his promise and stayed after…well, after we all lost Callum. Maybe, unlike me, he didn’t let his family down when they needed him most.

I sigh at the thought, trying not to dwell on the events which led me here. But it’s hard to forget. It’s too hard to ignore what a fool I was.

I had never meant any harm, never. You must know that. I’m not a bad person at heart, I just made mistakes.

My eyes subconsciously wander down to my bag, printed with the words ‘H.M. Prison’.

…Well, my mistakes were a little larger than some others. But they were mine to make, and perhaps had to be done. Either way, here I am with five years of imprisonment behind me; and an unclear future ahead.

But I am certain of one thing. I’m going home. After six years I’m going home.

I have to.