You come over and see the suburban manicured landscape, yellowing in areas but with some exotic flowers strewn about. I wave you forward, afraid of your opinions and push you through my warmly painted red front door.
The entire time you’re here I show you bric-à-brac and knickknacks, books and toys, foreign music and food. You wander around my my home but I steer you away from that strange door. I tell you it’s boring and I can’t even remember what I have stored in there. If you come more often, stay a bit longer, you’ll begin to hear the moans from down below and perhaps you’ll even catch a glimpse of a creature just on the outskirts of your visual field but they’ll be the beautiful creatures with [the softest] puppy fur covered in a few Hello Kitty stickers. You’ll wonder if you’re just seeing things in the shadows.
Have some tea. I’ll grab that book for you.
No! Don’t open that door.
It’s personal. It’s a mess. I don’t remember what’s in there.
I become paranoid that someone will open it as I accumulate monstrosities and mutants, yet I keep having people join me for afternoon tea and I’m ever aware of that old faded door every time it cracks open and a few glistening eyes peer out. I give those searching eyes a small shake of the head and they close the door just as you look to see what’s distracted me.
I expect to have that door blown open one day. I will be old and grey, or possibly rotting in the ground. Whomever manages to push their way in and traverse the short maze to my creatures might see some worth salvaging but I’m sure that most will be too alien, grotesque, cumbersome. They won’t know Rex or Fay or Turtle from any other creature. The way I nurtured them will be an abomination.
Family and friends will wonder why, how, what I kept and for how long. When did it begin? A few will think back at the strange little animals scurrying around my backyard that they thought were wild cats or some neighbor’s dog. I saw a flicker, I smelled something, I shivered. Stories will be whispered about false memories.
When will I stop caring and bring out my beautiful creatures to roast in the sunlight? Repulsive little creatures I adore and wish had sometimes never been born. I love you.