In all the years I’ve lived here, I never once called this place my home. So why is it so hard to leave?
I look down on the pristine city, its towers shining in the sunlight. A prison. Beautiful, yes, but not a place where a man can be free.
Ahead of me lies uncertainty. No doubt there will be dangers. But I’ve fought all my life for this. To get away. To be free.
But everything I am or ever was is inside that city.
I look over my shoulder at freedom. Then I start back towards my home.
Today's Novel Idea Prompted by: "In all the years I’ve lived here, I never once called this place my home.” Courtesy of WonHundred Word Wednesday! Read the other responses: