A Rude Awakening.

It was around 3 in the early morning, Amara stood in front of her window, looking out with her phone presses against her ear. Behind her were carton boxes, lined up in front of her bed. Minutes after she had placed the call, the line connected and Lorenzo’s voice filled her ear. “Amara? Jesus Christ, Amara, it’s 3 in the morning. Is everything okay?” She was silent. Blankly, she stared at the window, catching her devoid expression from across the glass. “I want to come home, Lorenzo.” Her voice was rough, showing signs that she had cried. “You what? Hold on,” There subtle clicking sound, then the sound of sheet rustling before Lorenzo spoke again. “Mara, talk to me, is everything okay?” “Yes, I just…I just want to come home.” “But you still have about three months left there. And what happened to protesting against coming home when the time runs out? The life you built there?” Ah, those stupid dreams. After tonight, it was clear to Amara that those were just dreams. In reality, she had