Walking into the house made me realize how long I had truly been gone. As I walked through the halls I remembered all your lost words. The promise to return is now forgotten as your name fades away in corrosion from my sorrowed tears over your cased body down below. I remember your figure above all, yet when I try to reach for you; you are always six feet away from me. 

Walking further, I see where you used to sit, but now it lies overcome with the house’s cells as it erodes in your absence. Brushing off the blanket it's created. I feel the particles from your shredded skin cascade through my clammed hands. My pores seeping liquid desperation to absorb just an ounce of your remaining presence. Realizing what’s left is still slipping away; I breathe in its scent. Always bringing me comfort with just its simplicity, and never embodying any masculine decent. Warm and sweet like the fruits of the forest pie. So long as it was there, I knew you were nearby. So why do I feel so alone when I try to take it in now? The fear begins to envelop me with the possibility of taking his place. 

Finally, reaching my own space. I see it had not changed; every nook and cranny was untouched. Just sitting there unfazed by my presence as I entered my old room I saw Its frame harboring my last smile and beside me stood my late father. Then in the depths of this single panel resides the place we called ours. Its movements guillotined from its other frames which once ran with life. Even with its hinged joints made by man; it always seemed to bring in those of living origin. As evidence seen on its body formed images of parasites clinging on for some sort of freedom, they may earn by letting go of realities hold. Its limbs smelt of candied metal; with nicknames illustrating each aspect of its personality. The way they danced gave children a thrill; the adults even laughed as the acts made fun of their hats. It was our place; casa del carnaval. 

Stuck in remembrance of the last memory we shared. I woke up not realizing I had slept. Reaching for the clock my room begins to cascade in steps of color from the rising sun. looking out the window I nearly missed the man?. If he could even be called that; his skin kept changing its appearance almost as if it was undecided as to what it was even meant to be. His ears resembled a cats but with ciliated tips; they twitched in sensitivity with each of the earth's breaths. His hands looked out of place with webbed digits that seemed to belong in the water's bed. But it was his eyes that left me questioning his origins; they portrayed a humane construct. If we were shown together, but with only our eyes present. You would not have given it a second glance. 

Stalking him further I tested my luck, ducking, crouching over the leaves in order to preserve my deception. Thrown off by the taste of the air resembling that of candy and popcorn. Its salty taste drying my tongue's ridges; its cracked surface yearns for liquid satisfaction. Finding relief it salivates at the slight tang or sweetness lingering in the air. Allowing me to dive further towards what I was beginning to decipher was of some importance. 

He stops by the mother of trees. You could feel her age through the grained rings she wore on her body's stained skin. He passes through her as if penetrating her soul she seems to shake from his intrusion. Counting my breaths I go to replicate his steps; passing her surface I feel my heart pounding with expectancy. Not turning back and reaching for what I believe to be the man’s back; it's all cold like the seas in my eyes. The edges now brimmed with salted crystals; scraping my cheeked flesh with their pained beauty. Feeling my hair cascade in waves; I follow the wind. Telling me it's time to go; I do not resist its goosebump-inducing push. 

Even with my overgrown sore eyes, I see you, dad. But it was not my sight that brought me to the light that was you. The scent of fruit-filled crust creates your image. I knew it was you who was nearby, and standing there I wavered in despair because I know it cannot be true. Yet, I run to you anyway, and the frames of our image come to life. As the kids go on screaming in a tone I had not heard in much time- joy; so nice to see la carnaval could still thrive even in my demise. When suddenly, I was snatched from you as the storm does its victims. Now I am awake.