I always imagined what it would be like, growing old with someone
Spending your days with them until your last moments
Hearing the soft breathing as you lay your head on their chest
Holding hands while walking together under the sun
Whispering “I love you” each time you get the chance to
A kiss on the cheek before leaving the house together
A soft peck on the forehead when they feel like being affectionate
Staring warmly as you fall in love with them all over again
All those little things seem nothing to others, but when you grow old, they mean everything
And I wonder what it would be like if I grow old with someone…
About the Creator
Isabella Renteria
"Painting is silent poetry, and poetry is painting that speaks." - Plutarch
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At the Sheltering Doors
The doors, they always scrambled for the doors first. When they arrive and always by night it was a race to desperately bar the creatures entry to the house in the slow crawl of numb feet that the dream would impose upon him. He never seemed fast enough and the creatures uninhibited by the same constraints always made the doors first. The houses in his dream-scapes vary night to night - Some are mansions, others shacks and some are distorted contortions of his childhood home which burned down when he was ten. But the doors are always the same – frail, loose hinged and never could be fully shut. The creatures too vary – twisted and corrupted forms of animals and people familiar to him: family dogs preternaturally swollen to twice their size with rotting coats of mange and slicked damp with dark liquids of decay. The people too were bloated vestiges of ones vaguely familiar to him but whose names escape him. Their eyes gorged wide with dark blood which streaked their mottled faces in crusted trails like lost rivers which hung from their chins swinging in ropy columns beneath paling yellowed teeth. To let them break through would mean death. This he knew with grave certainty. At the door was desperation and panic as their stench emanated forth, sickly and pungent like vomit and mold and ending in a gruesome exhalation like cancer, the stench sticky and clinging invading his nostrils and lungs never to be expunged. Then in the sudden waking he never knew if he repelled them or not.
By Kevin Rollyabout 14 hours ago in Horror
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