Śūnya Sparsha
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.
The soul cannot scream, The spirit has no lungs to scream with.
That hallway was never truly silent; it was just good at pretending to be silent. Its walls were damp and musty, like lungs struggling to breathe after holding back tears for too long.
No one knows when the passageway appeared. Some say it was born from prayers that failed to reach the heavens. Others believe the passageway is the rotting remnant of the world, a place where lost souls are gathered before being forgotten entirely.
There were no footsteps, not even a single sound inside. Only silence, alive like a hungry creature. In the middle of the hallway, a soul drifted. It had no name, no face. Only a vague form, like mist that had forgotten how to be human.
He doesn’t remember when he died—or whether he ever truly lived. He only remembers the sound of dripping water, the scent of wet earth, and a faint ache in his chest—as if someone had once pulled something out of his body and then forgotten to put it back.
Every second, the hallway seemed to whisper something—not with words... but with a foul feeling. A feeling that clung to my mind like mold on a damp wall.
Those hands slowly reached out from the damp pores of the wall, imparting a touch of cold solitude. Like the longing for a memory of someone long buried but who still refuses to leave.
The silence in the hallway suddenly took on a different quality. It felt heavier. Closer. As if the darkness around me had begun to watch.
The hands kept reaching out, this time more clearly. Like hands... but too long. Like fingers... but too many. Something in the darkness was trying to sense its presence.
The soul cannot scream. The spirit has no lungs to scream with. But there is something worse than a scream. Awareness. It begins to realize that this corridor is not just a place or a space.
This is a living being. That damp wall? Skin. The shifting mist? Breath. And the silence he had always thought was emptiness... is the invisible hands that slowly reach out to every soul lost within it. Gently, slowly, and softly. Almost like love.
But that’s exactly what makes it so terrifying. Because the soul finally understands one thing: This creature doesn’t feed on bodies—it feeds on loneliness. And a soul that has been alone for too long… is the ripest of all meals.
This work was created with ink on paper, using a pencil.
Sketch:
Outline:
The corridor grew narrower, the touches more frequent. And for the first time in who knows how long—that soul longed to die again. But in a place like this... even death refused to come.
To Be Continued...
This is all I can say for right now, sorry if there are wrong words or my typing is not perfect.
Thank you for taking the time just to stop by and see my work, and see you in my next work. 🖐👽
