She's Gone

Home. Home. I want to go home.

    The word rang in my ears. It pounded in my brain, a longing never to be satisfied. Oh, how I desired to see my parents again. My heart ached with a pain only able to be relieved by justice.

Gone. Gone. Gone.

    Gone was my murderer. What right had he to kill a poor, innocent girl? Bitter hatred filled every fiber of my incorporeal being. Never had I felt this way with any other person.

Revenge. Sweet Revenge. Oh how I long to rid you from this world. My killer. My destroyer.

    A bright light filled the empty road. A car entered my line of view. The possibility that this was my killer, gloating in his victory, intruded my thoughts. But it was not. Rather, it was a couple, both around the age of twenty, driving happily towards their destination. When they noticed me in all of my tattered glory, they halted, concern and confusion marring their faces. One of them rolled down the window.
    "Are you lost? Do you need a ride home?" The girl inquired.
    Perhaps they could take me home. They would be my salvation.
    I stepped closer, "Thank you so much, I would love a ride home."
    The boy's lips tilted upwards, "No problem, where do you live?"
    "Just follow this road and when you reach an abandoned gas station, you should see a white house with a rose garden. My parents are probably waiting for me."
    The car smelled of lavender and smoke. The hollowness within me grew to an unbearable size. Memories of dad smoking on the porch and narrating stories of wondrous and impossible things flooded my brain. I slumped in my seat, eyes closed. Seemingly asleep. The boy kept trying to make conversation. But I could not form the necessary words as one particular one pounded to the beat of unseen drums.

Home. Home. I want to go home.

    The gas station was now in sight. My heart leapt with happiness and hope. But when they pulled up to the driveway to the house, a tugging sensation pulled at me and I was swept away with the wind, taking my vision and leaving no evidence confirming that I had ever been there. Later the couple would no doubt glance behind them in confusion at my disappearance.
    When my sight was returned to me, I was back at the road where I had met the friendly pair. My curse restrained me from the one thing I wanted the most. My dejected self knew no consolation. I was a broken toy and nothing could repair me save the thing within my sight but out of grasp.

Home. Home. I want to go home.

Alas, I can never go home.