The Long Journey

He was prepared for the trip, the “apparently” short trip. He was told that it wouldn’t take long, but he packed like he was leaving for a month. Pants, check, shirts, check, toothbrush, check, he was ready. Knowing he was going to be walking the whole way, through the harshly cold snow and the bone freezing wind, he braced himself. His front yard was a white wonderland, little patches of grass barely peeping through. The weather brought back a very haunting memory. He thought of the time he had the bright idea to go sledding down, what the local kids called, “Death Hill.” Thinking it was just an exaggeration he decided to try. The day ended badly and he ended up in the hospital with seven stitches and a broken thumb. He snapped out of the daydream and stepped out into the early morning storm, backpack slung over his shoulder, he started on his journey. He trekked through his front yard and out to the street, careful not to slip on the glassy ice. Walking one house away, he turned and began descending the long driveway to his grandmother’s house. He had reached his destination.