[ CW ] Write a short prompt about what it means to be from where you live .

The wind whips out of the west blowing a thick wall of snow straight into me. The weather joins in the conspiracy to keep me away from home. Behind me, the emergency flashers blink, changing the snow from white to amber. I take a last, futile glance at my cell; no bars. I draw my coat around my face and start down the road. Bravely and defiantly, I take a brisk pace, but a stiff breeze that fills the corners of my eyes with snow brings me down to a trudge. 
 
 It seems like hours, but my cell insists its only been twelve minutes. A sign comes into view: Wichita - 17. I put my head down and sigh, resigned to continue my trudging. They're wrong you know, it's not as big as you think - it's bigger.
