Bathed in the unnatural light of a sole lamp situated in a lonely corner, Jane searches the immediate area for cloths of any sort. Her gaze is often pulled to various translucent windows. The memory of the outside world is still fresh in her mind. The warmth of the sun on her skin, the heat of asphalt crawling up her feet, the smell of grass and dust dancing in her nose, all of it lingers still, torturing and tempting. To stretch out like a cat in the sunlight, clear blue skies smoothed out and eternally wrapped around her like a favorite blanket, the thoughts and sensations wriggle free despite the effort to hold them back. Jane searches frantically for clothes to cloak her body in darkness. Stop it from yearning the sunlight. The promise of freedom and joy is too much for her to beat down. As she slips each piece of fabric over her slender limbs, she stares at the door. Barely hanging from rusted, brittle hinges, the door creaks just sitting there, begging to be pushed, pulled, turned. She wonders if the freedom is still there or if it was just an illusion. Looking back down the dark hallway to the dingy bathroom and the other cluttered, garbage filled rooms of the house she begins to wonder if the outside world might be everything she remembered, or much worse. This home may be a desiccated husk of what it once was, she admitted, but it is still home. Will walking through that door be worth leaving it to come back and find it gone, like so much dust and tinder, collapsed under the weight of some many years and neglect? Or would the illusion become a dark reality, crushing the one pleasant dream with the realization of a hard reality. Jane touches the dust caked door knob, her breath catches in her throat as the gears begin to awaken once again.
As inspired by this photo by Scott James Prebble to be exact.
I hope it will suffice.
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