I always saw my version of a home morph and change, shatter and break, but now, I really know this is – and never was – my home. This is the breeding ground of nightmares. I just wish it hadn’t taken such a fatal run to make me realize this. I have lived in the belly of hell and even though I had allowed that thought to caress my rationale, I never indulged in the notion until now. Originally, I had woken up on my own, but now all I can hear is muffled voices as they bellow from the rooms downstairs rousing me from whatever light slumber I’ve struggled for. They started off slightly calm, but now they’ve escalated into malicious snarls, screams of betrayals, and I cannot stay here and listen to the ruckus erupting below me. Throwing the sheets off me, I gingerly sit up, pulling myself to the edge of my bed. I climb from the side, a hand wrapped around my tender stomach, and slowly make my way across the vast space of my room until I’m able to throw my door open.
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