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The streets seem smaller,
cozier, more familiar.
Happy to be home.

There’s something I really enjoy about returning from a trip overseas. With every step from baggage claim to my car, I shed worries and thoughts of work, my steps growing lighter and more energetic. I climb behind the wheel and on my drive home notice sights and street signs I normally take for granted. Everything clamors for my attention but nothing distracts me from the thoughts of finally returning home.

I pull into my driveway and cannot wait to get inside the house and wrap myself in a warm cocoon of familiarity, hugs, and loving words. Every time I return is better than the last. It almost makes me want to leave again just to get the feeling of returning home. Almost, but not quite. For now, I’ll just enjoy myself and spend my time with those I care about most in this world.

Must be about time for another drabble! Dig deep within your brain for your own 100 word story, and tag it with “friday drabble”.  Share by linking to it in the comments and/or on Twitter with the hashtag #fridaydrabble. Happy Drabbling!

They say you can’t go home again.

They’re wrong.

In fact, with that D-Hopper you’re holding there, sliding through dimensions is as easy as falling off a log. Easier even, given how hard it would be to find a— no, strike that. You still have trees, here.

I could go home at any time. Back to the thick, choking air, noxious and burning in your lungs. Back to the toxic swamps under blood red skies. Back to the cancer that awaits, creeping inside you with every breath.

Yes, I can go home again. But why would I ever want to?