Home

He looked up at the sky. It looked like a bowl with white cotton floating. He always liked to watch them, lying down on his back on the green grass. When the sun started to turn soft and golden, the parent of the kids came and took them to their homes. Nobody ever came to get him however. Earlier he used to watch them go, bidding him, some with smiles and some crying to let stay longer. But they never stayed back. It was always him standing alone in the field.

 

The sky was turning into a mix of red, purple and many other colors. Colors, he liked, they warmed his eyes and heart. They were his companion. However soon they would disappear and the sky will turn monotonous black. He lied on his back, watching the colors getting warmer and filling his heart. The clouds took different forms and the flock of birds made a beautiful sight. The field turned into haven of voices, of animals and chirps, of birds returning back to their homes.

 

Yet he stayed there in the field, lying, smelling the earth under his body. There was still no one calling him, searching him. A butterfly glided on a yellow petite flower next to him. He got up and caught it between his fingers. It was fluttering, trying to escape his grasp. He smiled. He felt an urge to crush it, his heart beating faster. He yelled, his sound reaching the sky, the tips of the branches, the cliffs and the flying birds. Yet as the breeze passed him, it was just the same, as it was a moment before, empty. He collapsed as a cry slipped his lips, the butterfly escaped, as the tears started flowing.

 

Yet he got up and dragged his feet towards his house. It was dark now and the crickets were out. He looked at the house standing crooked at the end of the field, a lamp shining at the veranda. He saw a silhouette at the door. His eyes grew wide. Was it her? He gasped. He ran and ran. Tears flowing. Mother, he cried running, and stopped at the foot of the house. It was her, standing before him. “Come, my baby”, he heard her, her voice trembling. He ran and sheltered himself in her arms. They huddled, cried, together. Their words croaking.

 

She fed him with her hands and sang him lullaby. When he closed his eyes, her soft face melting, he dreamt himself playing in the field. They were all laughing and shouting when he heard his name, he turned and there she was. His mother, smiling. He smiled. He was ready to go home. 

 

Written for Prompt - 'There is no place like home' by Wings Of Change.