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Short story inspired by Portrait painting of a hotel in Red Gray Black by mendyz


Blog #6 of 16




September 16th, 2016 - 02:55 AM

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Short story inspired by Portrait painting of a hotel in Red Gray Black  by mendyz

Short story inspired by Portrait painting of a hotel in Red Gray Black by mendyz

Short story inspired by Portrait painting of girl in red by MendyZ

It's easy to get lost in thought, isn't it? To be doing some mindless or rather repetitive task and then just have your mind wandered away, leaving you in this autopilot state. Your mind is thinking about all the embarrassing or wonderful things you've done with your life. To be frank, my mind always liked to play with the awkward things, my brain likes to imagine double every awkward thing I have ever done. It does it to the point where even the tiniest of infractions of social rules or law, are applied into detonations of nuclear proportions of defacement of basic human decency. As I exposed photos in the red room, seeing the pictures fade in from the white, I felt my brain drift off to one I took the photos. Seeing the features of a dog and, behind it, a wonderful wall covered in colour books with titles that belonged in the 18th century, I thought back to the adventure that led me there.

I had offered to walk my friend's dog, a wonderful golden retriever. that had golden hair like it was made out of shredded Spanish doubloons. Walking her around town, I quickly found the old warehouses that lined the outskirts of my town. They weren't the nicest of places, covered in spray paint and smelling like a mixture of paint, urine and, what I could only imagine to be, ever illegal substance on Earth. As I walked along the warehouses, I noticed a gap between a set of two of them. A gap wide enough to fit a small lorry between them. The dog started to turn towards it and, as I was about to yank the leash to guide him away, I noticed a wonderful house in the distance. Looking down the gap, I saw the beautiful victorian house. Made out of beautiful painted wood, the windows bricked up with red bricks, and the roof somehow still stable. The dog barked at nothing, it yanked against the leash and tried to bolt down the gap. I told it to calm down but it bolted again, the leash escaping from my hand.

The dog rushed down the gap, bolting towards nowhere in particular as its long legs took like strides as the dog dashed with the speed of a small cheetah towards the house. Shouting, I gave chase. Running like an idiot, holding my bag, stuffed with my camera and notepad, I ran towards the dog. The dog stopped in front of the Victorian House door, sitting there like how a dog sits at a back door, waiting for its owner to let it out. Sitting there, wagging its tail, as I was had my hands on my legs, trying to fill my lungs with the precious oxygen that they so needed. The dog kept barking at the door, sitting there like the idiot that it was. Eventually, I filled my lungs with enough air to straighten myself out.

Walking over to the dog, I had patted it on the head and asked it to shut up. Taking a inquisitive hand, I pushed at the door and it, without a single creak, swung open. As the door got half way open, the dog ran in, throwing the door open the entire way. The wooden slab smacked against the bricked up wall, making the brick sound like a siren as the rocks made a resounding sound as the dog ran around the abandoned house, barking its head off as it went. I saw it dash up and down the wooden stairs, run in and out of doors, dive in and out of rooms and the whole other nine yards. Taking a step inside, I looked around the abandoned building. The wood was only barely rotten, the rooms still filled with furniture, the doors still strong. It was like I stepped through a portal to a hundred or two hundred years ago.

The dog finally stepped at the top of the stairs and turned its head at me. Giving an excited bark, the dog dashed into another door. Taking the short flight of stairs up towards where the dog dodged into, I muttered under my breath about that stupid dog. Woofing at me from a slightly ajar door, I propped open the door and saw a lovely beautiful sight. A study with an entire wall covered in a large bookshelf, and the entire bookshelf completely stocked with old books of every colour of the rainbow and every size imaginable. They look like they were all in mint condition, with barely a scratch on them. Looking down, I saw the dog staring at me with one of those goofy canine smiles. Pulling a camera out of my bag, I crouched down and snapped a picture of the dog, immortalizing that goofy smile.

I smiled as the red light of the red room twinkled in my eyes, it was a beautiful sight all of those books. As the picture matured, I smiled, patting the bag, now filled with beautiful books. It was truly a beautiful sight. Memories are a wonderful thing. Life doesn't always have conclusions, but the events can still be treasured as such. I always remember that house, even if there was no story conclusion to that tale.

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