Southern Aesthetic - Tumblr Posts
sweet, mourning lamb
You want me to open that door, but you don't really want me to.
I can't open the door because if I do, there's no way out other than the way I came in, and I know you won't let me pass you.
I don't want to sleep in there, but once it's open, I know Iβll l have to.
beauty is subjective & pain is art
it will be okay
where I sleep
when life gives you lemons, make lemonade
she was pretty, but now sheβs gone
@nightshark327
shot by @dronenotes
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A Take on Southern Gothic
(Southern Gothic Tale)
Summary: This atmospheric tale explores the haunting allure of the Southern Gothic, where faded elegance, untold stories, and the enduring power of the past cast a spell on those who dare to venture into its cryptic embrace.
Warning: Dark Themes, Paranormal, Implied Tragedy and Grief.
The sun hung low in the sky, casting long shadows across the moss-draped oaks that lined the worn dirt road. The air was heavy with humidity, a tangible weight that clung to the skin and seeped into the bones. In the distance, the eerie wail of a blues guitar echoed through the stillness, blending with the chorus of cicadas.
A dilapidated plantation house loomed in the distance, its once grand façade now faded and crumbling. The white paint peeled from its weathered clapboard siding, revealing the grayed wood beneath. The front porch sagged under the weight of time, its creaking boards whispering tales of forgotten stories.
As one approached, the scent of magnolias mingled with the acrid tang of decay, creating a heady and pungent aroma. The overgrown garden, once bursting with vibrant colors, now lay in tangled disarray. Weeds choked the delicate blossoms, suffocating the life from once-nurtured flower beds.
A rusty swing creaked eerily in the gentle breeze, its chains swaying with a mournful rhythm. The aged wooden slats bore the imprints of countless children who had played there long ago, their laughter now a distant memory. It swung back and forth, as if moved by some unseen force, its presence evoking a sense of nostalgia and melancholy.
The porch steps groaned under the weight of visitors, each creak a reminder of the countless souls who had passed through before. The front door, weathered and warped, resisted efforts to open it, as if guarding the secrets that lay within. With a final push, it reluctantly gave way, revealing a dimly lit interior.
Inside, the air was thick with dust, particles floating lazily in the shafts of sunlight that filtered through cracked windowpanes. Shadows danced along the peeling wallpaper, their undulating forms creating an eerie play of light and darkness. The scent of decay intensified, a musty odor that permeated the very essence of the house.
Antique furniture, once elegant and regal, now stood as silent witnesses to the passage of time. Their velvet upholstery faded and moth-eaten, their ornate carvings obscured by a layer of grime. A broken grandfather clock, its hands frozen in time, stood as a silent reminder of a bygone era.
In the corner of the room, a cobweb-covered piano stood, its keys yellowed and cracked. The faint echo of forgotten melodies seemed to linger in the air, a haunting reminder of the music that once filled these walls.
As one explored further, the rooms revealed more secrets. Tattered curtains swayed gently in the breeze, whispering tales of hidden desires and unfulfilled dreams. Faded photographs adorned the walls, their subjects frozen in time, their eyes filled with a sadness that spoke of untold stories.
Outside, the sun began its descent, casting long, ominous shadows that stretched across the landscape. This place held an enchantment, a spell of mystery and decay that captivated the senses. It was a world suspended between reality and the ethereal, where the ordinary took on an extraordinary air, and the darkness held a magnetic allure.
As the moon rose, bathing the world in an ethereal glow, the essence of this place revealed itself in all its haunting beauty. It stood as a testament to the transience of existence, an enigmatic realm that beckoned both the curious and the cautious, leaving an indelible mark upon all who dared to venture into its embrace.
Under the moonlit sky, the worn dirt road stretched into the distance, disappearing into the shadowy depths of the beautiful southern landscape. The dilapidated plantation house stood as a silent sentinel, its weathered facade bathed in the ethereal glow. Moss clung to the oak trees, veiling them in a ghostly shroud, while the chorus of nocturnal creatures filled the air with their haunting melodies.
The scent of magnolias and decay mingled in the humid night air, a heady combination that permeated the senses. The overgrown garden, once vibrant and carefully tended, now lay in disarray, nature reclaiming its territory. Weeds choked the once-proud flowers, their blossoms withered and forgotten.
This place, with its decaying beauty, embodied the essence of Southern Gothic. It was a world suspended in time, where the lines between reality and the supernatural blurred. It held the echoes of forgotten lives, their stories intertwined with the land, lingering in the whispers of the wind.
As the night deepened, the allure of the south grew stronger. It whispered of forgotten tales and restless spirits, of dreams left unfulfilled and the undeniable power of the past. And as the moon illuminated the landscape, its light carried the promise that this realm would forever captivate those who encountered it, revealing glimpses of a hidden world where beauty and decay coexisted in haunting harmony.
Word Count: 1.1k
Visuals by Nariman Darbandi
god saves but can he save you?
Rockville, South Carolina
Abandoned church, North Carolina
even the iron still fears the rot.
that one good morning will destroy me when you're gone
Andrew Moore, Golden Valley Norwegian Lutheran Church, Perkins County, South Dakota, 2013