r6urygrtsd

It had been a relatively quiet day. A contrast to how most days usually went. I had been riding the subway for around six hours, on a trip to a place I used to live.  A small town called Mulberry. I was heading there from the big city, or at least, bigger than this place.

I felt a bit of an itch beneath my fur, and I scratched lightly, a bit of anxiety creeping up. I wasn't exactly returning to my old home for the best of reasons. Regardless, an old friend of mine told me I could crash there for a few days. Had the attic all set up for me, so to speak. It was gonna be good.

Don't be late!

He said that with such a level of enthusiasm on the phone. It made me think everything would simply be alright. He had a way of doing that, though.

As of now, it was roughly twelve in the morning, and the exterior of the windows really set the mood; distant mountains with light snowfall befell the place. The streets were quiet, with a few poles here and there that lit it eeriely. I sighed, settling into the chair a bit more. It was going to be another two hours before we stopped, so I may as well recount some events up until this point.

Mulberry was my home town. I had lived here happily for about seventeen years, before a bit of tragedy struck; my dad died of cancer. This event shook the very foundation of me and my moms life. Our dad was sort of the happy median between the two of us; my mom and I, while we did get along, had our moments of tension, which dad's lovely sense of humor and jovial presence could always put at ease.

My mom had gotten a job, far away from this town, so we were required to move. My mom had been in a bit of a depression, and had turned to drinking as a recovery method of sorts. She wasn't the happiest drunk, either. There were many nights spent where she would come into my room sobbing, looking at pictures of dad on her phone. I had grown rather disconnected as a result. I guess more recently my mom overdid it on the drinking, and about a month ago, I found her dead on the kitchen floor.

She had paid the next month of rent in advance, fortunately, and I was able to crash there while I found another place to live. I'm a twenty-two year old with no college or job experience. It was a bit rough to ask to live with someone when they know I'm basically dead weight. So, that's when I called my old pal Jorge. That's why I'm coming here, basically.

I wouldn't admit it to anyone really, but another reason I was coming back was to simply forget about the world, and get back to my roots. Life here was always so simple. So easy. I could walk a block down from my old house and get groceries, or take a stroll through the woods to see beautiful peaks. I used to stick fight with Kyle and Jorge constantly, and we built this great fantasy worlds in our heads. It was all so... simple.

I sighed as I wrote all this down. I had a few friends say this was a great method to cope, but I typically find it more upsetting than comforting. Looking back on all of this has me feeling rather hollow. Not to mention, I'm anxious about simply coming back. But, almost as if the sub was a psychic, the train came to an immediate halt, and a tired voice rang through the carts. "Last stop; Mulberry. If you're still on, it's time to get off... please..."

It was awkwardly silent afterwards, but I gathered the bag in front of me and walked out the doors. They shut immediately behind me, and the train took off without much of a wait. I guess I was the last passenger onboard. It seems as if sometime during my writing, the snow turned to rain, because the cold breeze was accompanied by the sound of steady water.