If you never jump, you won't know if you can fly . . .

I couldn’t come to regret my decision to leave home.

As I unconsciously packed the last few remnants of my ordinary life into the third looming black suitcase, I paused. Pinched myself, hard. But I soon realised that the only purpose pinching myself served was reminding me that I wasn’t going to wake up. I was living this dream. Though my emotions were too much of a chaotic blur for me to be able to define what was happening as a dream or a nightmare. It was just happening. Even though I had dreamed of this moment and this opportunity for my entire life, now that the whole idea had come crashing down into my life it no longer seemed so idyllic. But before I had time to contemplate the situation any further, there was a harsh knock at the door to my empty bedroom and I knew that I had run out of time. There was no backing out now.

The journey was the hardest part. Silence. Goodbye was ominous, but still no one said a word. The atmosphere in the car was not uncomfortable but wasn’t familiar with the silence. No words. No music. No laughter. Nothing. We exchanged distant glances, that was the closest we came to conversation. But no one minded. It was evident that fighting back the tears was proving challenging enough without having to create mindless, false conversation. After an eternity, we turned a corner and the familiar control tower and hangars of the small, dull airport came into visibility.

I grasped at the handle, my long pale fingers almost numbed with fear, or cold. I couldn’t tell. The sharp wind hit me full on as I shut the door behind me, the icy breeze swept over my pallid face leaving a rosy flush in its wake. I shuffled cautiously on the icy ground, round to the back of the car and half heartedly hauled a suitcase from the boot.