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.

There is nothing I can do now. The past is called the past for a reason. As I sit in my comfortable chair and stare at the apparition in front of me, I know that everything happens for a reason. I could never have imagined the events unfolding as they did, but now in retrospect, it had to be this way. What's done cannot be undone.
At least he is not condemning me for what has happened. I see nothing belittling or accusatory in his eyes, only sadness. I suppose I should be glad for that. I could point my finger at him, but I remember that when you point a finger at someone else, there are two fingers pointing back at you.
I reminisce and think of all the awards he won in high school. The montage of victories are still prominently displayed for all to see. In the grand scheme of things, they were a reflection of the person I always knew he could be. Unfortunately, I no longer can tell him that in the flesh - only the spirit.
How it happened is a question for the experts. I have heard friendly fire, and I have heard an enemy mine. All that really matters is that he is dead and gone, or so I thought until he appeared before me this evening.
We cannot communicate in the usual way any longer. Of course, that means no more verbal barrages, condemnations, or figurative battles, which I suppose is a good thing. I only know that regret is what I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

« Back to Door