Silence Breaker

[Author's Note: This story was originally published in October of 2001 on my LiveJournal literary community, indiefiction. It plays with the idea of suburbia and faulty assumptions.]

I walked into my front door. There before me, a strange man stood in my kitchen. Apparently one of my brother's friends. My brother did have the weirdest friends.

I figured, what the hell, might as well be friendly.

"Hi, my name's Sam." I told him.

He looked at me and smiled, "Short for 'Samantha'?"

I nodded.

He helped himself to a drink.

He was kinda cute.

We stared at each other for a while. The electricity built in our gaze. Our eyes said words more poetic than those our lips could have formed . . . unless they were pressed together to his . . . No! I mustn't think like that. I mean, who is he, anyway. Some friend of my brother, or something. A complete stranger to me, and already I'm picking out the wallpaper on our dream house.

Finally, the Grecian god spoke, a sweet wind blew from the south to carry his words to my itching ears. "You live in this area?"

I smiled, and nodded. I mustered a pitiful, "Yeah," but was on the edge of swooning. I really must control myself. Honestly, it's not like he's the sexiest man alive . . . but he sure is close.

He offered me a drink. That's when I noticed that something was different . . . was it the carpeting, the wallpaper, the paint? The fact that my fridge isn't charcoal gray?

Then it struck me like a load of bricks. I looked at him and asked ever so hesitantly, "This isn't my house, is it?"

He grinned at me, and with a simple monosyllabic response, he chuckled, "Nope!"

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