The Domiciles Project



The works below are presented as they have been submitted by the artists. We do not censor the submissions, but ask participants to be mindful that content will be viewed by people of all ages. Inappropriate material will be removed.

He glanced out the window, watching the rain drops glide down his window, all at different paces, as he stayed that way for hours, feeling as if he had nothing better to do. As day turned into night, he sighed and stood up, stretching and glancing around the room, not a thing out of place. Ever since she left, he wasn't the same - the cheerful, bright man faded into a gloomy, bitter old man that would always hide away. The thought of becoming close with someone again terrified him; people always left him sooner or later, so why not be your own best friend and worst enemy? He dragged his way to bed, spending the next few hours counting the specks on this ceiling, due to how the thought of sleep upset him - he couldn't bare to see her face, even if it was only a dream. He hated her for leaving him, but as much as he wanted to, he couldn't forget her; every memory rang as clear as the time they experienced it.
The next morning he woke, rolling over, clutching his chest, pain coursing all throughout his chest, a problem becoming more and more frequent. He finally sat up and ran his fingers through what little hair he had left, realizing that a visit to the doctor was the best option. He got himself ready, hoping they could fit him in. He could not make an appointment beforehand since he had his phone disconnected quite a while ago. It sat in the corner with a thick layer of dust because as he thought - who would bother to call him anyways?
Less than an hour later he sat on the cold, uncomfortable table at the doctor's, waiting for the results of the test they recently took. A short time later, a middle aged doctor walked into the room, his head down; he automatically realized something was wrong. Terminally ill, God knows how long to live, the doctor saying his "sorry" and "I wish you the best." He sat motionless, stunned - why him? Eventually he stood, walking out expressionless, another reason to hate the world added to the long list.
When he got home, he lost every ounce of composure he had, falling to the ground, crying for the first time in what seemed like forever. With sadness followed anger, and then he stood up, grabbing numerous objects, smashing them until he reached for an all too familiar picture frame. He snatched his hand back, staring at the picture - the last picture they took together before everything fell apart at the seams. At that moment, something changed; he found himself smiling at the memory and soon found his feet carrying him back to the garage. He pulled open the doors, finding all the gardening supplies she had planned on using in the backyard to give it color and life, but never had the chance. He then realized he had to do what she always wanted; he wanted to make the most out of his time left, and nothing could get in his way.
As the days carried on, his project grew, his backyard becoming so neat, tidy, and bursting with color with flowers surrounding the vast area, almost everywhere you looked. He found himself struggling to make every inch perfect - like how he remembered her, but he couldn't because nothing compared to her. He would spend countless hours on his hands and knees, cutting every piece of grass that was out of place with a pair of plastic, orange scissors. He would spend God knows how long arranging and then rearranging the flowers, trying desperately to find the perfect pattern for the bundles of flowers before moving on to the next. He became obsessed with the garden, from dawn until dusk was spent outside, sometimes even in the rain.
Weeks later he was walking to the store in search of more flowers because the more, the better, or at least in his personal opinion. He was almost to the store, but something caught his eye - him, on the front cover of the local newspaper, "OCD Patient" written in bold letters. For some reason he became frantic, running over to the newsstand, buying every last paper before rushing home, forgetting completely about the flowers. He set them in a neat pile before sitting down, staring at the stack, realizing what he had become. As one tear escaped his eye, a raindrop fell onto his window. As the hours carried on, the storm became worse, the winds knocking down trees and street lights. He glanced at the window and he watched in horror as a large oak tree crashed down on the main area of his garden. He rushed out the door, running over to the tree, attempting to yank it off, but it was no use - everything, all of his hard work, gone, and there was nothing he could do about it. He looked up at the sky, screaming, wishing things were different, but it takes more than a wish to change everything.
After what felt like days, he more or less crawled into his home, drained and tired of everything - he was tired of always losing the battle. His head was held low as he climbed into bed, falling into a deep sleep he would never wake up from. He found himself blinking at what seemed like a bright ray, following it for a reason he was unable to figure out. He reached a tall, large gate, looking it up and down, stepping back as the gate opened, letting him in. He walked, trying to figure out where he was, until he saw her. He began running, calling to her, as he came closer and closer to her; he smiled wider and wider. He wrapped her in his arms, promising to never let go and saying how much he loved her. He pulled back, looking at her, realizing she looked as beautiful as the first time he saw her all those years ago. He soon realized he was in heaven, with his angel, and even though death overcame him, he was with the one he loved and that was all that mattered.
"Well, hello. welcome to heaven, the most perfect place I have ever stepped foot on because you're now here." She spoke, a smile forming on her lips before she reached out and took his hand, guiding him, wherever they wanted to go, I mean, they did have the rest of forever.
English 10 The Domiciles Project

« Back to Door