Home

By Edward Ian C. Benito

Home is the first word that comes in mind after two weeks of staying out of town. Eyes melt with crystal-clear tears as I lay down my millimeter thick bedsheet. Cold floor tiles tingled the back of my slender body as I reminisce those joyful days taunting my mother a joke she never once liked. I couldn’t sleep, is it because of insomnia? Or is it because of how I clearly remembered the noise my father makes as he always loudly snore every 12 midnight?

Oh, I remembered how both of my brothers aspire things they individually liked. And, mesmerized, they both got what they want, upon greater and somehow depressing exchange, the separation of our bond in place we once, and always, called home. Well, it’s normal, bonds of carbon and fluorine, which is the stronges ...