Inanimation Blogfest

Today is the Inanimation Blogfest, hosted by The Red Angel in celebration of her 100 followers (now 118 :D). The guidelines are as follows:

The idea is to write an entry of NO MORE THAN 1000 words that somehow incorporates the personification of inanimate objects. It can be a poem, a short short, a letter (perhaps to your favorite childhood toy?), a fairytale, a scene from a dream, or even a song--anything you want! It can be something you've written in the past or it could be totally brand new...it's all up to you! - The Red Angel

I decided to post an excerpt from a Chrysalis story I wrote wayyyy back when. I have posted another excerpt from this in the past, which can be found here. There was another Chrysalis story I could've posted which was actually about inanimate objects, but it was too difficult to choose an excerpt, as it was one 1000+ word piece that flowed quickly from start to finish.

So here's my entry for the Blogfest:

By far, the house's worst feature is the painting.

It hangs on the living room wall, opposite the room's gaping entrance. A grotesque face stares out of it. Twisted and leering, it is a face out of nightmare. It has yellow-white teeth, haphazardly placed between mottled, cracked lips. Those teeth dominate the scene.

Then there are the eyes. Cold, flat eyes that used to follow me all around the living room. They usually followed me out of that room, too. Floated in the air behind me as I headed for the kitchen. In childhood, they'd tracked me as I left by the front door for school each morning. Followed me as I crossed the lawn and stepped onto the footpath. I'd always had to round the nearest corner before the 'watched' feeling finally left me.

I've long believed in ghosts. Returning to that house each day after school, my belief gradually cemented itself. I shouldn't give the house all the credit, I guess. I could blame my little sister. Or my parents with their haunted eyes. But really, I hold the painting responsible.

Today is a bad day. Today is a worse day than I've had in a long time. Because I've got to go back into that house. And I know that painting's still there, waiting on the wall.

I've got to pack up the house.

But what to do with that blasted painting?

Maybe I'll burn it.