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Gripping onto the grassy mud and climbing up the hill towards the light pole, Francisco struggled. His punched gut ached and burned, with it only getting worse. There was also a screaming headache he had, jumbling his thoughts. He would not have expected to get punched this deep in the South. And although he could tank plenty of hits before, the man had a seemingly otherworldly strength that nearly broke Francisco’s bones.

At the top of the hill, Francisco looked down at his hand and saw how muddy it was. It was always dirty; now it was messy in the physical sense as well. While staring, a slight vibration could be felt in Francisco’s pants. Without even wiping his hands, he reached into his pocket, pulled out his phone in muddy hands, and saw who texted.

It was reasonable to conclude that she was about to go to sleep. It was past twelve, and the working person would begin the nine-to-five grind all over again in a couple of hours.

Without looking back, Francisco placed the phone in his pocket and continued to walk with a slight limp. His leg hurt after the fall earlier, not allowing him to put weight on it. With the chalky moon now free of clouds, he continued his trek towards his sister’s house. Continuing in a slow, messy manner, he did not experience any more problems.

One hour later, he entered a suburban neighborhood named Sweet Creak Rock. On the mostly wooden sign, a small stream was painted as illustrated rocks directed it. Around it, bushes and small trees crowded the sign, adding to the naturalesque look.

Francisco walked past the sign and traveled through houses, looking at each mailbox, attempting to find the correct house. It was a largely middle-class neighborhood. Each house looked different than the next, whether it be the way it was structured, painted, or decorated; no two houses were the same. Walking through the neighborhood, Francisco realized it. He realized just how much effort each person put into decorating and transforming their home into their pictured dream.

After several more minutes of walking, Francisco arrived at the house listed in the messages sent back and forth between the two siblings. It was positioned on a steep hill that housed two cars. Francisco walked up the hill and towards the door. Looking down, he saw the mat his sister was speaking about. On it were the words (Welcome Home).

Bending down and lifting the mat, Francisco saw a small golden key. Grabbing it, he placed the mat down and unlocked the door.

The door creaked open as everything inside was pitch black. Francisco stepped in and closed the door, all before looking for a place to rest. Not wanting to potentially wake anyone up, he walked around aimlessly in the dark, all before feeling the soft touch of a couch. Placing his bag down, he slowly zipped it open and pulled out a bag of white powder. Staring at it deeply, he was reminded of what the woman was like while high. She was more animal than human in those moments. Eventually, he opened the bag and pulled out a small spoonful of the powder, keeping it in his hands. Then he leaned forward as his messy hair covered his hand. Finally, his nose touched and he pulled it in, all the way up his head. In one inhale, all the powder disappeared, and Francisco’s mood grew. After that, he placed it in the deepest portion of his bag, hoping no one would find it. He then zipped the bag up and dropped it right next to him. Sitting on the couch, Francisco slowly attempted to lie down. His injured stomach made it difficult, as every inch he moved, a needle seemingly poked his wound. Finally, he laid down and attempted to get some shut-eye, falling asleep after several minutes in his mud-stained clothes.

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The sun slowly rose as the morning birds chirped in a songlike fashion. Sunlight slowly pierced the room Francisco was in. Around him, everything revealed itself with the rising sun. Many portraits and pictures sat on shelves and on the walls surrounding Francisco. Each one showed a loving family, vacations, and generally great times.

From the kitchen across the house, sizzling could be heard, followed by a strong smell of food.

The rising sun pooled into the room and gathered on Francisco. His once muddy outfit was now filled with dirt.

In the darkness, Francisco slowly opened his eyes to see the beautiful living room before him. He glanced around the room before finding someone staring straight at him from five feet away.

They locked eyes for a second before the little girl turned and rushed out of the living room, screaming.

“Mama!! Papa!! He woke up!”

Confused, Francisco sat up, not before feeling a sharp pain in his stomach. He gripped it and looked in the direction the little girl ran before seeing three individuals peeking around the corner of the wall, staring at him.

“Is that really your brother? He looks like a hobo.”

“That’s him, I think?”

“How can you not recognize him?”

“It’s been years; he might’ve just let himself go.”

“…”

“You’re the man; get your ass out there and make sure it’s him.”

The woman peeking around the corner smacked the man on the buttocks before pushing him towards the living room, where Francisco was.

“Good luck, papa!”

He walked towards Francisco, choosing to sit down at a seat next to where Francisco was lying. He was a tall man, six feet three, and very bulky with what seemed to be big muscles. He had a groomed beard that had some white hairs poking out. On the top of his head was nothing; he was bald.

Francisco and the man stared at each other for a second before the man decided to speak first.

“…Are you Francisco?”

“Yeah, and you are?”

“Ah! I’m Marcia’s husband. My name’s Matthew. Nice to meet you, brother.”

“Husband? Then…”

Both Marcia and the little girl came out from peeking at them and sat in chairs parallel to where Matthew was. Francisco stared at the little girl in utter shock.

“That’s right, this is my baby Elena. Come, Elena, come to Papa.”

The little girl named Elena ran from the chair into her father’s arms. The little girl had shiny black curly hair and bright eyes. However, those bright eyes looked confused as she asked.

“Papa… Is that really my uncle?”

“Yeah, it sure is. Now say hello to your uncle.”

Elena looked from Matthew to Francisco as she stared at him with a hint of suspicion. All before conceding and greeting Francisco.”

“Good morning, Tio (Uncle) Francisco.”

“Ahhh… Good morning.”

Still shocked, Francisco looked from Elena to Marcia, the only person he had not spoken to. She also looked at him with a soft, meaningful smile.

“Good morning, Francisco. I would hug you, but you’re covered in dirt.”

“…”

She continued to stare at him as tears filled her brown eyes. She then disregarded her previous statement and ran into her brother’s arms, staining her once-clean clothes.

“It really is good to see you, Francisco.”

“It’s good to see you too, Marcia.”

“But you really need to take a shower; you smell like shit.”

“…”

From the sidelines, Elena noticed what her mother said and showed a surprised face.

“Papa, she said a bad word again!!”

“It’s alright; today’s a special occasion. The next time she does it, make sure to scold her.”

“Of course! I’m always hearing.”

Marcia got off of Francisco as she looked at her now dirty clothes.

“I guess we both need to change now, huh?”

“Haha, yeah.”

Marcia turned and looked at Elena, who was still resting on Mathew’s lap.

“Elena, show your tio where the shower is.”

She then turned back to Francisco.

“I’ll pick some of Matthew’s clothes out for you, so go take a shower.”

“Alright.”

Francisco stood up just as Elena did; she then proceeded to take him to the bathroom, where the shower was.