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Stranger in My Own House:

I am walking around without my socks and slippers, every tip toe counts. It is dark and I don’t want to turn on the switch to the light bulbs in the patio, so I skulk and move around stealthily. I push the sliding door open, but I do it very slowly so that the screeching sound is not heard in the next room. As I stand there pushing slowly, I hear a distant sound coming from the basement. I panick. My heart is beating louder and faster now, like a wild horse galloping on a rodeo show. What was that brusque sound? I listen again, and I hear the same thing. Sounds like someone hitting a box. Or perhaps someone walking up the stairs…

I abandon my task of pushing the sliding door and I bend really low, as if ducking to avoid a water ball, and then I crawl on all four limbs to hide behind the sofa. There is a blue and red striped accessory pillow on the carpet. I pick it up and hug it, pulling my knees upwards towards my chest. I close my eyes. I am in a ridiculous predicament, a senseless limbo. Who is walking up the stairs? I stay there for a while, eyes tightly shut and hoping that no one catches me in this house. I do not want to be caught. I just want to get out of here. The sound stops and I start crawling towards the sliding door again. This time, instead of standing up, I try to push the sliding door from my low position. It’s not moving half as fast as I want it to…

All of a sudden, the light comes on. Oh no, it’s my father. I AM in my own house!

“What are you doing honey?”
“Daddy, I…errrr…I was sleep-walking again.”

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Stranger in My Own House: by 


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