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Going Home

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I am walking home along the familiar dirt road. It is daytime but somehow hazy and dusty as if I were in the desert. The trees I am used to seeing are gone. Replaced with miles and miles of nothing. Some thing hits the ground next to me. Startled, I look up. Impossibly high in the sky is a rotting bridge. It is slowly falling apart. I suppose I should run but I don't. I keep walking home. I get home and the house is dark as if nighttime only existed inside. I walk around inside and my foster mom must have made some changes to the place. It is somehow unfamiliar. I go down to the basement to find it remodeled. I find a new room in the back. It's dark but I can see through the windows near the floor. I crouch down and look out the window. That's strange. Why would there be a window in a basement? I see a view of another house, quietly still but beautiful with stone steps leading to it. I look out the other window and see several teens having a pool party outside another neighboring house. I shake my head. I don't remember having neighbors here. This room seems almost misty. I realize I'm dreaming again.

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Tags: bridge, dirt, dream, dusty, road


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