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This is my home, but it does not feel like my home anymore. This feels strange. For one, the curtains, which are normally a deep burgandy, are now more of a dark red. The floral design etched into them, well that now looks like a weedy design. Which is wrong, and looks very wrong indeed. The carpet, made from wool, fluffy between my toes, is not made from wool. Infact, it is more a wool-polyester blend. A burnt cream, with hints of brown instead of a burnt brown with hints of cream spread along my floor. It gives the whole room a different feel. The sofa, oh dear, the sofa is just a slap in the face. Instead of a suede-leather mix, it is mainly leather.. with suede dotted here and there. Dotted here and there. In a way that has no order, no rhyme or rhythm, again, this is wrong and I dislike this alot. The cushions are  positioned in a straight-laced horizontal manner. My home is not straight-laced, the cushions should be diagonal, thus creating an appearance of a larger room. Because of the cushions awful situation, the walls are closed in. By atleast an inch. The ceiling is lower down, I can't tell how much by, but its lower, I feel significantly more claustrophobic. The large canvas above the fireplace, oil based, with bumps around the edges and smooth towards the middle, is now acrylic based, with bumps in the middle. Its as if this home is trying to make me crazy. Not forgetting the fireplace, oh the horror of the fireplace. Instead of being coal black, it is slate black, entirely different all together. Instead of wood inside it, there is coal. What is this demonry? The worst offence, the absolute worst offence, instead of a pile of books by the newspaper stand (which I mention, has magazines in, instead of newspapers) there is a small black electronic machine. A kindle. Instead of books. No, this is not my home. I swear, if this isn't a dream, I'm going to create all kinds of trouble.

Created: Aug 03, 2012

Tags: dialogue, prose

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