The CorridorThey peer in at me, through boxed windows on my doorMake them stop staring pleaseI just want to go homeIm stuck; staring out into a corridor that they tell me isnt realIf it isnt realWhy am I stuck in here?Why cant I get out?
Home At LastI OPENED THE FRONT DOOR QUIETLY.Hello? I called out, hoping that maybe someone might be in. No response, I wasnt surprised, on the day before New Years, everyone would always be out. I quickly dashed upstairs and unlocked my room, before hurrying inside.I dropped my bag where I stood and stared around my unchanged room, a small smile crept across my face. I was home. Knowing I was alone, I had no shame in falling forwards onto my familiar sift bed and inform my mattress, my sheets and even my pillows that I had missed themEventually I sat up; my sticker covered guitar was staring at me. I sat up and hurried over to it, grabbing the familiar instrument by its neck and rushed out of my room and to the stairs. Suddenly filled with an excited energy, I sat on the banister and slid down it, holding my guitar out of harms way. I landed neatly at the bottom and whooped to myself. Enjoying the feeling of
well, of freedom.I took a right into the