Hearth

The fire burns low and the orange lights it casts flicker lazily in the comfy little living room I had made my home. The muggy atmosphere promised an eminent and swift transition into unconsciousness, but for now I was still lucid enough to gaze forlornly around the small room. I fought against the heady pull of sleep just to breathe in the smell of food, old wood and the people around me; the smell of home.

The birthday party was already winding down, and my family was strewn across the room in various states of lethargy. The ghost of a smile touches my face.

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