The old wooden garage door moaned and clanked as it ascended. It kept mumbling about how the elderly shouldn't be treated this way, and how he always has to do all the work. The warm air from the garage wrapped around me as the portal opened pushing the cool night air away.
The earth spins slowly.
Night time here is always painfully serene, crickets chirping and raindrops falling. The humming of the peaceful orange street lamps, the perfect undertone. The world doesn't notice me there, waiting to enter my home. The world doesn't notice me here, waiting to enter my home.
My world spins slowly.
As I step into the open mouth of my garage, a dark cavern of modern culture. The crumbled rocks dance across the floor as my feet interact with them. The garage door moans once again, as it descends back to it's resting place.
My hands grip the golden door knob connecting my cavern to my room. The spiders crawl out from the doorknob. Dancing their way all over my body, infesting my skin and nerves. I can see my reflection in the golden spherical knob, it bends and stretches and screams. It spins, slowly.
I still am waiting here, in front of this spinning knob. Waiting for the door to open.
With the spiders.
And the garage door.
And the crickets, and the raindrops.
And the street lamps.
And the world.
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