Home Is Where The Herd Is

It was soft... so soft...

It felt like I was floating around on a fluffy cloud.

It was so warm and gentle, and so comfortable, too.

I could smell the scent of earth, and feel the breeze on my skin as I laid there, in my bed and-

Wait. Stop. This isn't my bed!

My eyes snapped open as I quickly realized the situation. I wasn't at home anymore. I was outside in some kind of a forest, laying on the-admittedly comfortable-grass.

I shot to my feet with the speed of a cheetah and took in my surroundings properly. Sure enough, I was in some kind of forest, surrounded by trees that looked just as alive as I was. And while that fact did creep me out a bit, I was more concerned about where I was, how I got here, and why i was now somehow lost in a forest with no knowledge of how to get home.

Although, now that I think about it it's not like I want to go home. After what happened I don't even think I want to be alive right now.

I sighed as I remembered the funeral. After that I finally decided to go and at least visit the house my parents left me.

It was trip down memory lane for me. The same old dinner table where my parents and I used to talk about everything and nothing all at the same time. The same old photos, the same old decorations. I can still remember their laughter as I told a joke or said something funny. I can remember my mother's smile, and how it'd light up the room for everyone.

My mother was a nice woman. She was always kind to me, and while she was firm, she was never oppressive or overbearing. That's not to say I didn't get in my fair share of trouble from time to time. I can still remember my mom catching me smoking at 16.

Suffice it to say I learned how to draw really well during that month. Trust me, boredom is worse than any physical punishment you can think up. I would know.

My dad...was a nice guy. He was always nice to me, just like my mom, but he was a bit more...forceful, so to speak. He was the playing catch outside, watching football, playing games kind of dad. You know, the kind that talks about you for hours on end to the neighbors and calls you his pride and joy? Yeah, that kind of dad. I knew he meant well, it was just...a bit much at times.

And then there's my little sister Susie. Typical 'annoy the older brother for no reason' kinda girl, but she was adorable and loved to play, so I let it slide.

I actually enjoyed playing with her. She was so lively and driven and well, you get the picture. Typical overly energetic kid stuff.

She grew up to be the smartest one in the family, and even took to tutoring me like it was second nature to her. Not that I was doing bad in school of course, but um...

Okay fine! I got three C's and a B on my report card back in middle school, okay? You happy now?!

Anyway, despite my abysmal GPA, with enough help from my family, I was put on the right track and eventually got into college.

This change was helped along by my older brother, who, being eight years older than me, had much more life experience.

He often told me tales of his life that revolved around the next step in my own journey to adulthood, to help me prepare for it all before I even got there.

I am proud to say that it was mostly because of him that I am who I am today.

I decided to put less effort into video games, and more into my passion, creative writing.

People say its hard to get a steady job doing that, but those people either never actually looked, or are too lazy to try.

I poured all my energy into learning all I could about everything I needed to both pass school with flying colors, and get the info I needed to start on my journey to become an author.

So yeah, we were just your typical, everyday family with typical everyday problems.

That is...until the incident.

They all suddenly died on me, leaving me as the sole survivor of my entire main family household.

My dream died after that, leaving me a wreck of my former self. I had no drive to achieve anything anymore. i was essentially lost until the funeral, where my aunt and uncle convinced me to face my problems and visit my parents old house.

They'd left it to me in their will, but I never even bothered to look it over. I didn't want to. I didn't want to go back to the place where all my suffering began.

But even so, even after all the time I spent telling myself it wasn't worth it, i eventually gave in and paid the house a visit.

When I got off from work the day after the funeral-I worked as an accountant in place of my real dream- I made my way over to the house and went inside.

I briefly entertained the idea that their ghost might be haunting the place. But then I remembered that they were properly buried, so no ghosts would come from them, since they were at peace.

I kind of envied them. Able to live up in the sky in bliss for eternity. They were in a better place. While I was stuck down on earth and left to suffer.

Our family wasn't what you might call religious. We believed in god, prayed and even read the bible, but we never went to church.

My father believed them to be nothing more than 'a bunch of money grubbing fools disguised as people', but my mother was adamant about it, so they had to compromise.

Don't get me wrong, Bible night was lots of fun! Each of us would read a passage from the bible, all the way up until we finished a book, and then we'd start again the next month. If we didn't finish in time, we'd just continue from where we left off.

Little Susie was having a lot of fun, too. She was so adorable, asking about 'the great big man in the sky' and all his 'little people.'

Ahh...those were the days. And now its my birthday. Kind of Ironic, huh? The people who brought you into this world, dying on the day you were born? Kinda makes you think of yourself as a curse, doesn't it?

Anyway enough gallivanting about down memory lane, Its time I finished this story. So after I went inside the house, I looked around for a little bit. You know, the usual curiosity over how things had turned out. Then I went to my room, and was hit with another nostalgia trip.

I could remember all the times my mother took care of me when I was sick. All the times, me and my brother and sister played together. All the friends I had over, the parties. It all just came rushing back. And before I could even rush over and bury my face in the bedsheets, I broke down and cried.

I cried for my parents, I cried for the past, the present, and the future. I cried for my brother, my sister, and my relatives who now have to live without their beloved family members.

After that I felt I needed some rest, and so I climbed into bed and let the feel of my old sheets carry me off.

Unfortunately it would appear they really did carry me off somewhere. Because i'm not at home anymore. I'm somewhere else.

Somewhere...unfamiliar.