Home

Kevin Mason

As the world crumbles apart and all beings, all objects, all atoms explode away from each other, the clutches of faith and hope seem to remain strongest, binding people together. And as every new morning comes without the glory of the sun, the senses of men grow cold like the darkness around them. And as the darkness flushes out the light as the light once flushed it out, we come closer to God, for we need Him now more than we ever have before. It seems that sometimes it takes desperation to make us into who we should have been all along. It is never to late to become what you might have been. . . .

We were exactly where we wanted to be. No, not quite, but closer than ever before. We were almost home. The overcast skies began to darken further as night grew closer. I continued down the road, staring at the ominous black apartment building. Every other structure around it had been leveled, but it stood strong. My home still stood strong. Our home.

"I've waited quite some time to see it. All these years," Micah breathed. "All these years. . . . "

Memories rushed back to me. The dark sky seemed barely as bright as I remembered it. The smells of smoke and death faded away and I remembered the smells of my home. The aroma of cake being baked in the small oven filled my senses. I could see my family around the table as my mother brought the freshly baked cake in and set it before us. My eyes began to fill and I pushed the memory away, blocking it out.

I looked back up at the black edifice and pulled my trench coat around me tightly. It was so cold. The wind never blew anymore, but it was still cold. The sun never shone anymore, and I still waited for it to cut through the oppressive clouds and shine its glory into my lost world.

I knew who had destroyed my home. And this city. And the world. They did it, all of it. The mysterious members of an evil cult with no name. The taste, the smell, and the color of blood attracted their vicious attacks. They had attacked this entire city destroying everything in their path and killing everything, but we survived, and we were the only ones who did; my brother and I.

I remembered what this place use to look like. The building standing tall and proud. The people walking down the sidewalk and driving past in their cars. The sun showering the bustling city with its golden rays. The smells and sounds and sights of a prosperous and happy city.

When I recalled the memories of the city, it seemed that it was a different place altogether. This city seemed so much different in my memories, so alive. But now, the city was dead. I desperately wanted the place I remembered back. That was all I wanted.

It had taken us only three years to get away from this place, but to get back it took five. Why is it always easier to runaway than to come back? Why is it always easier to give up than to stand up? Why is it always easier to shut up then to rise up?

Ahead of us, we heard the sounds of vehicles moving toward us. As the sound grew louder we heard the whooping of madmen. The cult was still present in the city. Micah and I looked at each other. No words were said, we knew what was going to happen now. We were not going to run away.

We smiled at each other and walked down the broken road toward our foes. Why is it always easier to give up than stand up? It's not, but most of us try the former without giving the latter a chance.

God is nowhere.

God is now here.

I am home.