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.