Flash.

The summer air hung low, creating fog around the hand I lay flat against the clear window I look out of. I picked up the leather handled bag, took a deep breath and stepped out the steel framed door. It was really happening, I was really doing it. A part of me was certain I would turn back when I hit the end of my long tree lined street, yet still, tears rolled down my face as if it would be the last time I would walk down the four chipping stairs that guard my home. The last time I would smell the fresh pastries from the Thompson family bakery down the road, or hear the birds chirping in the old elm tree that stand tall and dignified in my well kept yard. That based on the actions I was making, really wasn't "my yard" anymore. With every step I took I grew more and more regretful for my actions, but I knew I couldn't just run back passed the kitchen, and into my bedroom without consequence, and I was in no way willing, or wanting to face that. Turning the corner I tripped slightly over the uneven sidewalk. For the two seconds I had been off balance, the memories of me tripping over this very path with my first bicycle as a child, skipping jump rope down this street and being terrified to turn this very corner because it was unknown to me. The world was unknown to me. I felt the same then, and the feeling wasn't something of great love, of dignity, or even perseverance.

An hour of walking step after step had passed.I was in this frosted daze, not knowing what my destination was, I walked further and further passing the familiar scenery, now unfamiliar in its rebellion. In my travels I passed my old school, the first school I ever attended. Its playground seeming haunted and dead due to its lack of tossing rocks and children's screams. I stopped for a brief moment to gaze upon its flat, empty landscape. Its damp pavement and thin, stretched netting of basketball hoops both looking drained and tired. Looking back to when I once roamed this playground, I remembered how differently my young eyes once perceived this place. The sun was always bright, it would shine through the little bite holes that caterpillars left on leaves. The dry chalk substance on every child from digging their hands deep into the tiny pebbles surrounding the playground's metal base. I specifically remembered hanging off the metal monkey bars with both hands, with a body so small, looking down was terrifying. The three foot jump to the ground seemed impossible. I clung to the red painted metal bars crying and screaming, my hands swelling into one big callas until my little fingers let loose. The fall seemed like forever, but as soon as my Velcro strapped shoes hit the uneven rocks, I found myself wanting to climb those bars to only feel the fall once more. To be a victim, to love my fear. Thinking back to all these memories didn't ease my mind. Instead, I broke from my gaze to walk further away from anything I knew.