I've lived in this town my whole life, and most of the time that's fine by me. But in late fall when the sky fills with birds migrating south for the winter, traveling thousands of miles, I get homesick for places I've never been. Places like (prompt ends here) Florida or Georgia. They say it's very colorful there. That's what our town needs, color.
All you see is the same dull brown when you look out onto the prairie. When Grandma was alive, she would try to grow flowers.
I never really cared about the missing colors until fall. Then the longing starts. It's so strong that I'm sick all fall. People say it's consumption, but I know better. Because, when winter comes, I get better.
I always try suggesting a place to go to Mom. But she always busies her shaking hands and says, "I don't know Carrie, maybe when your father comes home. Yes, when he comes home we'll be able to do more things. He always said -"
She'd continue comforting herself by retelling all her memories of him. The truth is that my dad is in prison. He got in prison because his boss cheated him with his salary. Dad is an honest man that can't bear it when another human being cheats. So fists flew and you know what happens next.
One day, after being refused again by my mother, someone knocked on the door. I opened the door coughing violently.
"Carrie?" a deep voice says.
It's my dad.
"Dad?" I say, "How did you get out?"
"We proved that my boss was guilty."
I cough again.
"Is it the fall sickness again?" he asks.
"Where could we go to make it better?" he asks. I smile.
"Florida," I whisper.
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