I live in a large, old house with dusty windows, tall columns and an ancient purple book that I read every night and never finish. I am alone here. I do not know if there was ever anyone else. I cannot remember most things. Someone explained why once, but I do not know who.
I live by a school. Through the large window I can see the children streaming out the small gate and running home every day. Or maybe that was just today. It is to my knowledge that the children are there but sometimes I cannot see them. There are men that stand around in white lab coats in front of my house. They write things in clipboards and occasionally scratch their heads. One time one of them threw a rock through my window. I threw it back but they ignored me. Everyone ignores me.
I should go outside and ask them what they want. I should introduce myself but I do not know who I am. I turn back and see an ancient purple book lying on my bed. How did that get there? I pick it up, there is a bookmark in the middle. I don't know whose it is. I start from the beginning. I read until the middle and laugh at all the funny parts. It has grown dark, I cannot see the text on the page anymore. I place my bookmark back in the middle of the book and set it down on my bed, I will finish it in the morning.
I am downstairs instantly. I assume that I moved from upstairs to downstairs in a normal, timely manner and continue on with my task. I am in the kitchen. Did I eat dinner? I must have, because I am not hungry. I check the refrigerator. It is empty. I have to go grocery shopping.
The sun rises from behind the glass windowpane. I am not tired, so I must have slept. I am standing in the same place, I am wearing clothes. Are they different clothes from yesterday? I cannot remember.
I walk up the stairs. They creak, and it startles me. This house must be old. How long have I lived here? I go to my bed and there is a book lying there. Someone has left their bookmark in the middle, but I start at the beginning and laugh at all the funny parts.
It is dark for a moment. There is nothing in my fridge. I am not hungry. I am not tired, but my bed is made. A purple book is in the middle of it. A bookmark is halfway in the book, it is gold and reflects my face. I stare for a moment, but features seem to blur together and have no meaning. I turn away. The sun has risen. I open the book and read the first sentence. Then I am halfway done. It is wonderfully hilarious. I laugh at all the funny parts. I put my bookmark in and I am in the kitchen. I must get groceries. My cupboard has spider webs in it. I don't remember how to get upstairs. I'm never hungry.
There is a knock on my door.
I pause in my reading. I do not know if there ever has been a knock on the door. I'm sure there has. My hand reaches for the doorknob before I register that I am close to the door. My nose touches dusty wood. I thought this door was new. The door handle comes off in my hand and falls to the floor. It is the loudest noise I've ever heard. I stare down, and the door swings open. A boy is standing on my porch.
Why am I in this house? Who is he? I raise my hand, but he does not raise his. He is not a mirror. He blinks and says something that I do not understand. His mouth opens and closes and strange noises come out. I open and close my mouth but nothing happens. The men in white lab coats are on my lawn. They are watching the boy. They look frightened. The boy sees me. He does not ignore me.
His hair loops and bounces as he turns around. He gestures to the men in the white coats but they do not see him. They are looking, but they do not see anything. He turns to step off the porch with the old columns and cannot. His foot kicks out but never reaches his destination and then it is night and there is no food in my refrigerator.
I live in a large, old house with dusty windows, tall columns and an ancient purple book that I read every night and never finish. I am not alone here. There is a boy that lives in the house as well. I do not know where he sleeps. I do not know what he eats. My cabinets are home to only spiders. The men in white coats ignore us. We do not talk. I want to introduce myself but I do not remember my name.
My house does not exist.