The Place I Call Home

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My hand reached out slowly, breaking the thin stream of steady smoke I had left floating out of my mouth. Unable to hold my breath any longer I exhaled, dropping the burnt-out cigarette bud on the ground and stomping out the last of its fiery breath.

I had climbed up to this roof earlier during sunset. Now whenever I stop for a moment and gaze up at the nights sky, the bright, circular face of the moon shines back at me through thin clouds that mask any signs of the stars above. This particular roof holds much meaning to me. This is where I go to escape. To leave the hellish world around me and step into an alternate universe. This building is too many stories high to count...and its unbelievable how far the view is from here. I can see busy business parks and if I tried hard enough, even tiny little people scurrying about, trying to get home.

Home.

The thought alone made my blood run cold and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. What was my home? What is home? Is it a place you resign? Eat your meals and sleep in peace? Or is it a place you call your own? Work day-in day-out to maintain? Or is it somewhere that holds meaning to you specifically? Somewhere that warms your heart and gives you that fuzzy feeling in your stomach like when you see children horseplaying in winter snow?

Whatever it may be, I had none. In the hearts of others is where I believe I belong. But I have no others. I'm alone. Very alone.

My name? Scott Jund. I'm 21 years old and I live in a small apartment by myself. My father lives off in Texas with my step mother and my two step sisters. I don't have a job or anything. My family sends me money every month. It pains me to say I grew up in a wealthy home but always felt as if I had nothing. No friends, no family even. My father was always a distant figure in my personal life. All I knew was alone and alone was all I cared for.

Now, I'm not proud of what I've done. The pale white scars that stand out on my wrist are always a reminder things can always get better. In today's society many people find cutting is a thing to support and to call special attention to people like me but in all honesty, I hate the extra attention. I hate feeling like what I do is something to be supported. I do what I do so that I can feel pain. And what us humans fail to take into consideration is, if I want to feel pain, I won't want other people to call me out on it and treat me as specialty.

Many times in my life I've also felt suicidal. The human race as a whole has the tendency to lock away the part in our brains where we hold memories of painful experiences. But I like to remain open. And sometimes, simple every day experiences can push me over edge. Over the edge of this roof, for example.

But no. I'm far to intelligent of a human being to give up that easily.

As I stand up and walk over to the edge of the building, I sigh. Am I really that intelligent?

I looked out to the world in front of me. Look at all the people. All the lives being lived. No one life is the same. No two paths remain as one. It's funny because I used to always think their was someone outside of my world, on another planet or whatnot, living the exact same life as me. But their never really was.

I reached down into the pocket of my black skinny jeans and pulled out my phone, clicking the power button and checking the time. It read 12:45.

"Damn... Already?" I mumbled to myself, only half-heartedly expecting an answer. Soon before rolling my eyes at my own stupidity, my phone died and I knew I'd left the charger at my apartment. I suppose this was the sign I needed to tell when enough time was time enough on this roof I called home. I reached into my other pocket and stuck another cigarette in my mouth, quickly lighting it and stuffing everything back in my pockets where they belong. Sighing slowly I looked out into the world once more and mumbled a small 'bye' inside my head.

I slowly began making my way off the roof, climbing down a ladder on the side of the building. However, I was completely unprepared when three fourths of the way down, one of the bars came loose and I fell hard and fast onto the concrete below. I let out a painful yelp as my back and my head felt a if they cracked against the ground and I easily fell unconscious.

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