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.

As I walked through the gates into the farm yard, I had a keen sense of foreboding. At first, it seemed like ants crawling under my skin; my body temperature began to rise to an uncomfortable level, as if I had been sitting in the sun for too long. What was it I was experiencing? I had been on the road for too long. Maybe my mind was playing tricks on me. When you are a fugitive from justice, everyone is watching you, and trust went out the window a long time ago. So why was I worried? No one knew me around here, and my past was not going to catch up with me here.
I heard the usual rustic sounds playing like a symphony in the back of my mind: leaves rustling in the wind, the cacophony of animals in the barn, and the weird thunking of an ax on a block of wood. What was that? I heard it right the first time. I came around the side of the barn and there was a woman dressed in a blue dress taking care of her business. The decapitated chickens were strewn about the scene of the execution, and now I had been spotted. I put up my hands in a gesture of amity, and when our eyes met, I knew I was in trouble...

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