My key turned in the lock and the door creaked open, stiff from months of neglect. I stepped over the threshold, dumping my back pack on the floor. Dust rose up from the impact and swirled lazily through the air, the larger particles catching the sunlIght streaming through the window.

I cast my eye around the apartment, checking to see what had changed. Would I even notice any changes after a year away? Had there always been that black scuff mark by the lounge skirting board? Had I really hung the pictures that crookedly, or had they been disturbed from their fastenings by a breeze, an earthquake, a person?

It wasn’t like the movies; I didn’t fall to the ground, snow-angelling through the dust, crying “I’m home! I’m home!” I didn’t rush to my possessions, turning them over in my hand, exclaiming how much I missed them or how good it was to sit on my own couch again, flop down on my own bed again.

In fact, I felt no attachment or affection at all. It could have been anyone’s apartment, save for the framed photo of me and Dad sitting on the bookshelf. It’s funny what home means to you.

Was this my home? Or was home that small mountain village in Switzerland, where I lived for 6 glorious months, made connections with so many people, who I was still in touch with months later? Was home Turkey, where I spent 3 weeks staying in town after town, village after village, soaking up the sights and sounds, gorging myself on fresh, flavourful food?

My soul belonged in those memories, those places, those people. They were home. This was a dusty, empty apartment, loudly reminding me of what I was missing, what I had left. And a preview of the monotonous life that was to resume, now that I had crossed the threshold. Home.

I rummaged through my purse, trying to find my house key that’s went unused for a year. I finally found it, turning it around in the lock. The creaky door echoed in the mostly empty apartment. Dust flying everywhere, cobwebs filling the corners. I let out a long sigh of relief, and let the happiness show. I was finally home.

I walked up to the couch, pulling the sheet off of it and coughing after all the dust went up my nose. I started to dance a little, not even noticing that the house was a mess that I would have to clean. That was a problem for future me.

Stepping to a familiar door, bag in hand and lock idly waiting. The key felt eager in my hand to end my journey for the time being.

Click.

The house sat still, echoing subtly back to me my own steps and setting down my own bag on a floor dustier than I remember. Letting home fill my lungs I slide my hands across counters and furniture, remembering. Just remembering. Laughing with friends on a party night around the coffee table, having my first kiss on the couch, a hole haphazardly filled on the wall.

It fills me with shivers, like being cold and given a warm blanket, just shaking off the journey for the dust to be wiped away and reveal where my comfort lies.

Here, in a home I’d nearly forgotten, but now find it hard to forget.

I unpack my things into the living room, dusting off the coffee table and looking at what’s to be. I feel energy at my fingertips and a smile rising from my cheeks.

A new journey, this time a home game.

Looking at the world through the now seemingly small doorframe and seeing its vastness cloaked, I can’t wait to start.

Click.

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐭𝐰𝐨 𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐫𝐞𝐧 𝐠𝐨 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐧𝐚𝐦𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐁𝐞𝐧 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐀𝐦𝐲 𝐑𝐨𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐭, 𝐁𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝, 𝐡𝐨𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐡𝐞 𝐜𝐥𝐚𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐬𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐧𝐨 𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐜𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐲 𝐰𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

𝐁𝐞𝐧’𝐬 𝐝𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐲:

The house was abandoned long ago. It was covered in dust and a sheet was over the couch. It was spooky. That is not my opinion. The last people who lived there said it was haunted. Always following them. Watching them even when they shouldn’t be watched. Haunted. As if! Ghosts aren’t real. And I’m going to prove it. Me and Amy are going into the house to prove that it isn’t haunted.

See you after.

Abandoned Not random Dilapidated mansion My passion

Dusty And musty Rearrange Then change

This sunny room This sunny Dust sprinkled Faded old Room This is my home

The attic bedroom Squishy bed Faded blankets Well loved toys Memories This is where I come to rest

Life is so bitterly cold It’s frost Envelops me Burning me To the core Till I am left a time stamp

I’ve hurt so much My head aches With feverish anger I’m tired I’m done Done with life

I fade Just like my room Childhood preserved Cause adulthood Was too much I am left a ghost

I inhabit this room As the sunshine I once basked in I used to be so warm But then sue claimed me

Now I’m just dead.

Finally, after an arduous journey, Alexander's feet brought him back to his humble hometown. His weary body longed for rest, and his heart yearned to reunite with the familiar comforts of home. But as he approached his house, anticipation turned to bewilderment.

The curtains were tightly drawn, shrouding the windows in darkness. A layer of dust covered every surface, as if time had stood still during his absence. The air inside was thick with stillness, devoid of the usual sounds of life. The furniture, once vibrant and welcoming, now seemed faded and drained of color. The photographs on the walls were blurred, their memories preserved but distant.

It was as if Alexander had stumbled upon a forgotten time capsule. The linens draped over the furniture whispered of a forgotten era, and the silence engulfed him, leaving him feeling strangely disconnected from the world he had left behind. He had expected the passage of time to bring change, to transform the place he called home, but it remained frozen, trapped in an endless loop of the past.

With a mix of nostalgia and curiosity, Alexander ventured further into the house. As he explored each room, he found remnants of his previous life — mementos, trinkets, and fragments of memories. The dust had settled upon them, coating them in a sepia-toned layer of neglect. It was a bittersweet reunion, realizing that time had stopped.

Fumble with the key Insert and twist A rush of scent hits me Smells like me Like home I smirk It’s been awhile little apartment I think sarcastically to myself I walk around as if it’s a new concept A completely new experience But it has all the memories Caked into these four walls The late night talks with people The parties The tv binging days The laughter The sadness It’s all here You don’t get that when you travel A familiar place That’s home

Mallory slowly pushed open the door, the creaking sound echoed through the place she once called home. She carefully roamed the living room, letting her hand trail on the places that brought back memories. The scratchy couch she slept on when Roman kicked her out of bed, the picture frames that used to shake from the screaming, everything had a memory. Pacing around finding old reminders of the life she once lived. She sighed with a small smile appearing. She learned a lot from her travels. First she left the flee, but along the way it became to explore, learn, so much deeper than she thought it’d ever be. She didn’t resent Roman or her time here. Even her scars that remind her of what happened here. She realized home doesn’t need to be a place or a person, she found her home inside herself. Where she started all along.

Gone? I thought to myself as I stood in the dusty coffee nook. We had plans. We have catching up to do. We are supposed to have lots of conversations about my adventures. My travels were here idea!! 360 days?? 360 days, five days shy of the deal we made, to discover a world she never got to experience. My rock, my best friend, my roommate after my father passed, now my mother is gone, too?

We sat in the breakfast nook and planned my voyage out perfectly. She claimed the future with excitement, anticipating all the postcards I would be required to send her. Departure day came, she helped pack my suitcase and snacks like it was my first day of kindergarten. We spent months of her mapping out my exact route she wanted me to take saying “listen Zip, this is just as much of an adventure for me as it is for you.” Something is wrong, like nightmare wrong!! I am home five days shy of our agreement. What happened? She made me pinky promise I wouldn’t chicken out and come home early. We pinky promised 365 days not 360 days. A year of adventure, me traveling solo around the world and her pretending the postcards would make her feel like she was with me.

I can’t breathe. I’m hyperventilating. Am I having a panic attack? In shock? 1…2…3…4…5…6…7…8…9…10… not the same without her.

“Zip, do this for me, travel, take pictures, eat the fine foods, learn the languages, live free and experience the world wide beauty…Zip? baby can you pinky promise you will give me your all for 365 days?”

I can still hear her saying that ridiculous nick name “Zip” as she offered her pinky to be promised. I can smell her white diamond perfume and feel her happy soul looking at me with encouragement. Standing here, with my back pressed against the apartment door, I slowly slide down to my knees, tears streaming down my face, sobbing out loud like she could hear me “never the same… momma nothing will ever be the same”. I laid by the front door sobbing uncontrollably for hours. I must have passed out because I woke up with droll on my cheek and now, pitch black outside. I stood up and managed to walk to her bedroom. The amount of medicine bottles on her dresser is jaw dropping. What in the world is all of this? Dumbfounded, I stand there in shock. I am startled when I hear the front door open. My auntie Shelly catches me as I collapse into her arms. “She fought hard, zippy, she just couldn’t beat it.” She whispered in condolences. I pulled back from her embrace and stared into her eyes so confused by what she just said. Fought hard?? Couldn’t beat it?

6 months before our last ever pinky promise she found out she had cancer. She never said a word about it. Aunt Shelly said “your momma always wanted to travel the world every time a postcard came in she would wink and say Shelly take care of my girl like she has taken care of me.”

A pinky promise will never be the same.