Take Me Home

He is standing on the rooftop. The place is empty. The wind flows softly over him. It tosses his hair and stirs his clothes. He looks at the cityscape from the rooftop. Then he looks down and says,

“How long would it take to fall from here to the ground?”

After whispering those words, he turns back to where he stood before, closes his eyes, and smiles faintly.

In his mind, he sees a beautiful village—winding red soil roads, vibrant plants, and tall trees. Under the clear blue sky, courtyards and houses are evenly spaced, calm and peaceful. Birds soar and sing, while butterflies and bees hover over bright flowers and gentle trees. Everything moves slowly, softly, like a living painting. Children play joyfully beside the shimmering lake. Of course, this is his village—the place where he grew up and everything he loves.

But peace never lasts...

In the same sky, he sees the shadow of war—planes flying overhead, cold and loud. The silence breaks with gunfire and thunderous explosions. The red dirt road is no longer red from earth, but from blood. The houses that once stood in neat rows are now destroyed by flames. The flowers are trampled, the trees shattered. The lake is no longer a playground.

He runs. He runs. He keeps running...

He arrives. The city stands before him.

“Ugly… ugly city,” he says.

Memories rush through his mind—every pain, every shadow. They flash like a storm he can’t stop. How did he survive in this cruel city? He’s not sure. Maybe he never did.

But then… yes.

Yes, it is her.

She is the only beauty in this broken, grey world.

“Oh Daisy, let me love you.”

The hand he held was softer than any flower.

Her smile was a painting he could never stop admiring.

Then came the words, spoken from the lips he loved:

“I can’t be with you anymore. I’m sorry. I can’t love you anymore.”

He thinks he hears those words, soft and distant. Is it the gentle breeze carrying them? He can’t tell.

“Oh, Daisy... do as you please. You know I’ve always obeyed your every word,” he says.

Then he opens his eyes, turns to the side, closes them again, and lies down as if resting after a long day. But there is no bed beneath him. His body floats in the air like a fragile sheet of paper. He closes his eyes tight. A beautiful village, a broken one, a cold, tangled city, and a daisy with the sweetest smile—all fade into thin air.

Soon, he feels the ground beneath him. A ringing noise fills his ears, but through the chaos, a woman’s voice cuts clearly:

“How could such a stupid young man do such a thing?”

He murmurs, “You will know, madam... only when you feel it. You will know... only when you feel it.”

Soon, a large white light appears, drawing him closer like a gentle tide. He doesn’t resist. Softly, he whispers,

“Take me home, please…”

________________________________________

THE END.

Author’s Note: This story is a reflection on war, memory, and the quiet pain we often carry inside. It’s not about death—it’s about the weight of living. If you connected with it, thank you for reading.