Portraits

I was alone in the dark, dark forest. It was void of sound; even the cicadas and crickets had ceased their chirping. What time it was, I was not sure. The glowing orb of the moon hung precariously in the onyx night sky. My eyelids drooped, my back slouched and my legs threatening to give out. My fogged mind tightly grasping the last of my consciousness. I was exhausted, drained and more than ready to collapse.

I had been wandering around the forest for hours, and hour after hour, the hope I held on to faded away. I had no intention other than to curl up and let sleep take over my body. However, the thought of being ruthlessly feasted on by a beast as I slept prevented me from crashing on the forest floor.

Just then, a distinct shadow caught my eye. Looking closer, I made out the cuboid form of a shack. A shack, just what I needed. The shack looked well kept, plants trimmed and vines far from invading the small building.

Without a thought, I stumbled towards the shack, craving nothing more than rest.

The interior of the shack was sparse, with only basic furniture like a bed, a table and some chairs. Without another thought, I lay down on the warm and welcoming bed. The shack seemed to get darker.

As I lay there slowly drifting off, I noticed the portraits hung up on the wall. They were not the most comforting of sights with their subjects' faces mangled and distorted. Some missing a nose, others with angry red scars across their cheeks. Their eyes seemingly staring at me.

Thinking nothing of it, after all, they were just paintings, I fell asleep.

The next morning, I woke up feeling refreshed and revitalised. Sunlight was streaming in, illuminating the little shack. The first thing I noticed was that the shack was blindingly bright, as compared to the inky blackness of the night before. The second thing I noticed, was the that the paintings on the wall were no more. In their place were windows.