Home is Where the Heart is

They say the home is where the heart is.

In the modern world, where you sit the buildings that reach into the sky and grasp the serene clouds, you look down to see the deep ravines of the street bustling with life in its usual routine. Despite the awe, life in the peaks of the tall towers is painful beyond all belief. In which you sit at the mundane wooden desk and suffer for an earning to live each and everyday, it is the reason why people desire sanctuary. That is the role of the home.

When terror has filled the street, you escape despair by returning home. It fills them a powerful joy that they will return to the comforts of their home, unspoilt and untouched by all else. That it will provide you with a serene protection that cannot be provided by anything else. So in a time when the modern man was brought to its knees by something it cannot see, you will return home to escape. But the street does not allow you the solace you seek, it stands towering firm over you, slamming the reality of the world onto your desk. Their escape has been taken away, what they desired to leave behind has broken through the door of their haven and stares them into the eye with heinous monstrosity. They longer are free, they are stuck in the never-ending nightmare which has corrupted the serenity of their home. A suffering beyond all imaginable.

A place of wondrous retreat has become a building of incarceration and enslavement. Society cannot stop, it can never be paused. So if the skyscrapers can longer be used, then the home is the next best alternative. The place of leisure and rest has been repurposed into the office for the average worker.

Man has lost its freedom, confined to the labours and toils of work. They say home is where the heart is, but where our heart is i'm not so sure anymore.