TheLastHome...

Hola a todos, soy Humansleep. En esta ocasión quiero publicar mi trabajo en la comunidad Alien Art Hive. Y aquí también compartiré el proceso de trabajo, ya sea dibujo o boceto.

This “TheLastHome” section serves as the conclusion to my previous series, and it will also be connected to the series I’ll be continuing next, titled “Solitude in Darkness.”

This universe is the final destination for souls that have left their earthly bodies behind.

No one knows how long the gate has stood there. It is older than names. Older than language. Even older than the memories still lingering in the spirits that come to the gate. In the midst of a vast expanse of emptiness, in a place unmarked by time, stands an ancient gate resembling a petrified tree trunk. Its body is cracked. Its surface is covered with the marks of countless ages. Perched atop it is something resembling an ancient helmet, like a relic from a world that has long since collapsed. From a distance, the gate looks like the head of a giant asleep. Waiting. Always waiting.

Before him lay a rocky path. It was not a path made by human hands. The stones had arranged themselves over thousands of journeys. Each stone came from a different place. Some came from a world that once had two suns. Some came from a city that lived beneath the sea. Others came from places that no longer even had names. They all ended up here. Before that old gate.

All along the road, small skulls were scattered like wildflowers. Strangely, there was no sense of dread. They looked more like signposts—like streetlights for those who had wandered too far. And among the stones grew pale mushrooms that glowed faintly. Their light was enough to illuminate the path, but not enough to drive away the night. Because the night in this place didn’t need to be driven away. It was part of home.

Every now and then, a thick mist appears in the distance. A mist that is not a mist. Smoke that is not smoke. But rather spirits who have completed their long journey. They come slowly. Without haste. Without fear. Without confusion. Because for the first time in so long... they know where to go.

One of the spirits arrived at the gate. Its body trembled slightly. Its form shifted constantly, like a cloud that had forgotten how to hold its shape. It had traveled a very long way—through a world without a sky, through corridors that devoured memories, through places that did not even understand the meaning of life. Now it stood here, before its final destination.

The gate slowly opened. There was no sound of hinges. No creaking. Just a dark crack appeared in the center. And from within... something emerged that no one had ever been able to explain. A universe. Not a world. Not heaven. Not hell. More like the backyard of all existence. A place where all journeys finally come to rest.

The spirit stepped inside. And as it crossed the threshold... something strange happened. It didn’t lose its memories. It didn’t lose its form. It didn’t lose itself. On the contrary. For the first time since leaving its old world... it felt whole. Truly whole.

In TheLastHome, there are no punishments. No judgments. No questions. No one weighs what is good or bad. Because this place doesn’t care who you used to be. Only one thing matters: you have arrived. And that is enough.

In the distance, thousands of tiny lights twinkled like fireflies. Each one was a spirit that had found its place. They did not speak. Nor did they know one another. Yet a warm feeling connected them all—like the realization that there was nothing left to pursue. Nothing left to leave behind.

Outside the gate, the night continues. The cobblestone path remains. The mushrooms keep growing. The skulls stand silent, marking the way. And the old gate stands there. Calm. Patient. Gazing out at the vast darkness. Waiting for the next traveler. Waiting for the next soul. Waiting for those who have grown weary of walking.

Part of the steps:
This work was created with ink on paper, using a pencil.

Sketch:

Because in the end... every spirit, every memory, every life that has ever existed—
will find its own way to its final home. And when their time comes... the gate will always be open. At 3:00. As always.

Outline:

🕯️🏚️🌙 TheLastHome.
The place where the journey ends, and silence finally feels like home.

This is all I can say for right now. I apologize if any of my words or expressions are imperfect.

Oh, and thank you to all of you who always support me and take the time to stop by and check out my work. See you again in my next piece or in the upcoming series!! 👋🏻👽