To Create is How I Live.

It's a Longer Road to California Than I Thought

The burning flash of my computer screen makes my eyes water as the early-morning sun peeks out from the frosty horizon. Painfully slow, the sun comes out to wake the sleeping students from their dorm-room beds.

Another night spent in this prison of a school; another night spent writing a bullshit essay about a war that happened a bajillion years ago.

If I’d known that I’d be learning nothing I’m actually going to use, I wouldn’t have begged my parents to send me here. I would be back there, with all my friends, in that shabby little school with the cracked chalkboards, cobweb ceilings and rickety-old desks. But oh no, I had to be the best of the best and go to some fancy school. I can’t even be mad at my parents - they had nothing to do with going to this hellhole. But now that I'm here, I have to stay and god only knows what's coming next.

Maybe I can jump on the next bus and get to Bracebridge before someone notices it's only a five-hour ride from here to Orillia.

Jumping from my chair, I start packing. I'll only take a few things - if I take too much they'll know something’s off.

I tiptoe down the hall, down the creaky stairs, and out the glass doors to freedom. The morning air is cold; the ambiance is perfect for an escape. I feel like a spy escaping the enemy.

I make it to the bus stop just as the bus pulls up. This is perfect; I’ll be gone before anyone's the wiser.

This is going to be a long road home but I’ll make it, then I won't have to worry. I’ll go to school with my friends, be with my family every night and get to sleep in my loopy-little bed that smells like flowers and has a unique nostalgic smell. A smell I’ll never forget.