Home is Where the Heart Is

“JOSH!” yelled Dad, “Why would you punch your brother in the face?!” “He punched me in the stomach a thousand times harder!” I replied. “You broke your brother’s jaw.” “Well I wish I could just leave this place!” I stormed up to my room. Later that night, I got up. I was sleepwalking. That morning I woke up on hard concrete. I heard the sounds of the city. My eyes shoot open. I’m in an alley with graffiti, and two dumpsters. I got up, and looked around. This place wasn’t familiar. I started to walk out of the alley, then a hand pulled me back by the collar. I looked behind me and found an old, bushy-bearded, dirty man wearing a black hood. He said, “Wanna come with me to ma car.” I replied, “No, get away from me!” I ran away as fast as possible. I checked every direction for thirty feet. Nowhere looked familiar. A telephone booth. I called a taxi to bring me home. When we arrived I found my house in rubble. My dad and my brother were walking over the rubble covered in dirt. “ What happened!” I said, my voice cracking. “ When we found out you were gone we went to the police station to report you missing. When we came back…. we found this.” Dad said, sobbing. I remembered living on the streets and feeling scared and unloved. On the side of the road there was a sign “Habitat for Humanity.” We talked about building a house for us. I told my family. My dad agreed. We had a house built in the same spot. I never want to leave again. We have a sign in our house that says ‘Home is where the heart is.’ Now, I realize how true that is.