I have decided to do something different today for my blog. I have found a website www.creativewritingink.co.uk that offers a weekly creative writing prompt as part of a competition so I decided to write something for it. Here is my piece of flash fiction called Travelling- based on the prompt posted on May 28th 2015. Hope you guys enjoy!
I picked up the faded Polaroid picture of the very first street that I lived on and called home. I always carried it around with me, anywhere I went, it went with me. It was one of the disadvantages of being a traveller like me. You never really stayed in a place long enough to call it home. I liked this life though. As much as I had loved my old, quaint little hometown, I got all I could from it and yearned for more. For more freedom, more opportunities, more adventure.
Of course, I’ll go back one day. Just not today. Or tomorrow. Or anytime in the next month or so. The bad memories I created there will creep up on my happiness like a darkening fog. The bad definitely outweighed the good. Travelling was my escapism. Sure, living in a worn down second-hand VW campervan did have its pros and cons but it was more about the thrill for me than anything else. The thrill of not knowing. I wish I could say that it was a difficult decision to leave, but at the end of the day, it was a no-brainer. I had to leave it.
I sometimes think about who is living in that little street now. Most of the people I knew probably escaped from that little place in their own unique way, at a time that was right for them. Mine was the day after I turned eighteen. I’d left school and I was contemplating what to do with my life. It was then that the option of travelling occurred to me. I’d always wanted to see the world. Why not take a gap year and go travelling? Mum and Dad had been against it, of course but I convinced them that it was the best option for me in order for me to gain some independence. The only problem was- I didn’t stop after that year. I went back to my favourite places, revisited favourite haunts.
Mum grew more impatient for me to return. Dad was more complacent, happy to let me do my own thing. Mum wanted me to come back and as she said “make a proper career for myself.” I’d been doing odd jobs all throughout my last few years of school, so I had enough saved up for a gap year. But soon, I will run out of money. I will have to go back. I looked through pictures that I had taken on my travels using my second-hand camera. It did the job. At least I will have some great memories and stories to tell my parents and friends. They may even be inspired to go travelling themselves. Maybe. I will go back. Not just yet though. A few more months travelling. A few more months of freedom.