It was a little after 9. I could finally leave. I’ve packed the last few belongings of mine. They fit snugly in a single carrier bag. As I walk down the passage way for the last time, I bitterly take it all in: not a single thing I would miss.
Setting foot on the grounds outside takes me one step closer to accepting my fate: Nobody was there to welcome me back home. Nobody was willing to hear my side. Nobody cared.
The brightly-coloured overalls took away my dignity; my pride; most of all, my innocence. Each scar has its own story to tell. Each story is buried in a lie: a carefully woven lie whose threads so neatly hold each other tight in place.
I temporarily shake off the pain and disappointment, allowing the warm sun to settle on my cold face. The long dusty road on the far right had once lead me to my confinement. I take the left turn.
While the dust clouds my sight, my vision remains clear. There is only one thing I want everybody to know. Not how it happened, not why, not about my innocence neither my intentions. Just one sentence. One admission.
I don’t regret it.