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Iím trapped in my house...

Itís been more than two years since I went outside. Then again, I donít think I ever left... ever since they boarded up the doors and windows with billboards and paintbrushes.

Or at least... the places where the doors and windows used to be. Theyíre not there anymore. So Iím not completely sure that itís my house... because I definitely remember having windows... at least windows...

But then, suddenly, a few months ago... I began to realize that there was something going on outside the house.

Iím not sure how long it had been happening, because everything seemed so lush and artistic, yet dirty... the clouds were made of Braille, dogs were barking in Braille, children were laughing in Braille, and their parentsí eyes were melting.

And there was something about the grass... it stood out from the rest of the picture, like it had been painted. By the time I realized it, and before I could look up and start searching the sky for answers, a billboard with a paintbrush and a masterís degree in *PERSONAL INFORMATION REMOVED* climbed up to the top half of the window... and it asked me, ďWhat kind of a billboard are you?Ē

And... I donít know exactly how this happened, but... it crucified itself onto the place where the top half of my window used to be. It just hung there, letting the wind fondle and shake it...

I donít look at the sky anymore, because the billboardís still there. Itís almost like it wants me to just keep staring at the grass and the melted eyeballs of everyone in the painting... because thatís all it was, really... a painting. At least thatís what the people on the lawn said...

I think there was a thunderstorm last night, but I canít see the sky anymore... or the people... so, quite frankly, I donít know if there have been any thunderstorms lately, so I can't keep up with things...

But ever since my doors disappeared, there have been a few upside-down thunderstorms... strange, I know... I donít quite understand it myself, especially since I painted another sky on the billboard. Or at least tried to paint one... because sometimes, the billboard would vomit rainbows and ruin the painting. And it became more and more alluring every time it happened... I couldnít see it though.

So now, I just sit in the corner, staring at that window and the billboard that hangs just behind it, bulimic and painful... because I know it doesnít want to leave... and as long as I canít see the sky, it never will.

------
What is the truth? Ask the majority.



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The following comments are for "Creatrium"
by Lachrym





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