Alone

                    Sam walked down the sidewalk mindlessly making his way down the empty streets that lead to his house. He was reading an article on a new book called ‘Gone’ that he had found at school earlier the evening. Sam pushed the bridge of his glasses up because they kept sliding down his nose as the summer heat beat down on him. Entering his neighbourhood, he arrived to a part of the article that interested him, ’Releasing on June 12 this year, Michael Grant’s super seller novel……’  ‘Wonder if dad will buy it for me’, he thought to himself, ‘only a couple of days away.’ He shoved the paper into his pocket crumpling in the process as his house quickly arrived.

                   The double floored suburban house with a massive driveway stood out from most houses on Milton Street. On the top floor was his bedroom window through which he gazed wondering if he had turned off his monitor before leaving to school. He climbed the steps of the wooden porch and realised that the morning edition of the Calibre Times had been forgotten by his too busy mother. Grabbing the paper with his left hand simultaneously ringing the doorbell with the other, he read the headlines,’ FIRE IN CITY KILLS NINE. Fire fighters too  late…..’ Sam checked the time on his wrist, it was already 4:50 and his mother should have been home by now. To confirm his suspicion, he rang the bell again, in vain. With his own set of keys, he clumsily unlocked the heavy oak door. As he was about to rest his bag down near the small coffee tables he noticed the Grandfather clock was nowhere to be seen along with the twin coffee tables, the medium sized television set or the big easy chair and two leather sofas.  Instead was an ancient mini TV that looked like it was manufactured since god knew when and a small glass table with two chairs on either side of the table. Perched atop the table was a glass vase with Styrofoam flowers next to which was an unopened envelope.

                 Looking around carefully around the changed room he moved slowly towards it and opened it to find a letter. The letter read,’ Dear Mr Crookes, it has come to my notice that you have not yet….’ ‘Mr Crookes?’, he thought puzzled,’ who in the world was he?’ Utterly confused he yelled a little awkwardly, “Mom……Dad……..Is any one home?’. Silence. He dashed down the hallway that had once had beautifully painted walls but was now a dull grey. He ran up the wooden steps taking them two at a time to his room. Inside he found that his desktop, bed, pile of comics, posters, cupboards and all other things replaced by a large office chair that looked like it belonged to someone in a much higher position than himself. Walls were painted a clean shade of white. Large sterile lights shone down on him like he was on display. Metal shelves half opened, half closed were filled to the brim with paper. It looked more like an office than an average thirteen year old boy’s room. He took a seat in the large leather chair and tried to arrange his thoughts. He was shivering and a few beads of sweat rolled across the side of his face.

                   After a few reassuring calming breaths he realised that he was probably hallucinating. No, that couldn’t be possible. It seemed real enough. He needed a cup of water, but from where? He would probably find in the fridge’s place a statue or something like that. Then it struck him like lightning. A thought so simple that he laughed at his overreaction towards the situation.  He ended up in the wrong house or even the wrong neighbourhood! With the thought fresh in his mind, he ran headlong down the stairs, through the hall and out of the door leaving the house that was actually his alone.

A Story

                   Under the deep blue sky that was breezy and still was a grass field in the midst of all things. Andros gazed down at the field, alone, feeling at peace with himself. The recent turn of events had given him a great deal to think about. Lost in thought, he had forgotten that there was a creature that was silently lurking about. Andros didn’t need to look back to know that it was his faithful companion, a small black dog that followed him around wherever he went. His thoughts were suddenly painted with the memory of his encounter with the dog.

                   Andros was on his errands throughout the village. First, as usual, he visited Johan whom had provided to his family as well as the rest of the village with milk every day in exchange for ten pennies. Next he skipped through the narrow allies that interconnected Quimbasa quietly humming as he arrived at the well. He was meant to collect a bucket of water then return home but there were a group of the elder boys clustered around the well, shouting and laughing. At first he had thought they were bullying some poor unfortunate boy that had got in their way. But as Andros had come a bit closer, he saw that it was not a boy but a jet black hound that they were tormenting. They were beating it, throwing stones, shouting at it and laughing. He being one of the younger children of the village could only stand in a corner and wait for it to be over. As the long moments of torture passed, the boys decided that they had beaten the dog beyond recognition and destroyed most of it and left, sniggering to themselves obviously pleased with their work. Andros quickly ran over to the dog and tended to its wounds and thus their friendship started.

                     But that was a long time ago. Now Andros was bigger and forced to work very hard because of his family’s poor condition which left to him a little free time allotted to gaze and wonder upon the world and its mysteries. The dog was now nuzzling him, clearly in need of his attention. It was now darker, indicating that his time was up. Gathering his thoughts, he flashed back into reality to find that it was chewing in his worn up shoes. Another pair, ruined. ‘No boy! Bad dog, don’t chew them up again! Heel! Heel!’ he shouted. The dog sat straight up and looked back at Andros. Sighing, he replied to the look, ‘Fine then, we’ll get back to work. Shall we?’.