Menagerie.

As I get off my car and wave my mother goodbye, I realise where I am-- the place of my mediocre experiences; where I had spawned in circles, where I screamed at the top of my lungs despite the hoards emerging and where I fought through with such vitality and naivety in their wake. And, as I am about to take my first step back into this circus, I turn around and make a dash for it. I run into the parking lot to find a living souvenir of this horrid place.

He stands about six feet tall with his vibrant red hair not as haywire as before, but neatly trimmed. In such scenes in a movie, it would be expected for me to slowly gait my way to him, caress his face and accept him into my arms; instead, my feet drag me swiftly to his passenger seat without a wave of hi or hello. In turn, he gets into the drivers seat, turns on the ignition, and within a few seconds, we are on the road again, just the two of us, like that one night a few years ago.

And, while he drives us to what I would call uncharted territory, I make no sound throughout the trip, not even a whimper or a sign of curiosity. Though he would normally yell at me for my silence, he does not utter a word to instigate a conversation, merely drives past buildings until we reach scattered houses and a mesh of green.

Finally, we find ourselves at this spot. He parks the car and gets out. And, I follow. Still, with no eye contact. No interlocking hands. Nothing but silence.

We made our way to the depths of uncertainty. Wherever he had left his mark on the ground, I covered it with mine. What most would perceive as mere seconds, we found endless with this grueling anticipation in our hearts. Suddenly, everything accelerated, and then stopped. With a whisper from the past, in this hammock, where the clock ticked away in its own realm, we laid and said our regrets of the menagerie we had left behind.