And as he looked over
the ruins of what was once his family home, only then did he realise that no
matter how short the journey, you could never truly go home.
FIN.
He sat back, after clicking save, and took a long, satisfied
breath. Sure, it’d need edits, rewrites, more edits, and in the future it’d be
reworked and retold, but right now, the story was done.
He closed that file, and opened a new one, missing the old catharsis
of replacing paper in a typewriter. But the blank ‘page’ still stared back,
asking a simple question.
What’s next?
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