Story+3

Home at Last Kevin Smith stood outside the door to a home. He furiously and hesitantly stared at the thin metal key resting in the center of his palm. His eyes scattered from its bright orange plastic handle to the rugged edges of its teeth. His mind couldn’t stray from the notion of distrust and precaution; for an object as modern and advanced as this surely could not bring about anything but trouble. Kevin, a tall, thin man with precise posture, was the type that couldn’t bear any sort of technology. He could not manage to trust emails, cell phones, or cameras; and, grasping the key firmly now, he did not trust it either. Not one bit. The cold night air of the spring awakened his face as he looked over his shoulder to the right. His eyes followed down the rows of exactly identical houses that laid beside the one he was about to enter. Their replicant white sidings against the dark night cast an eerie sensation down his spine. He imagined all the occupants of these homes seated inside their living rooms, mocking him, watching him stand outside his door, staring at this key in utter and obvious fear. Since there was no use of standing in the cold any longer, Kevin carefully placed the key into the hole and watched as the small light above the doorknob turned from green to red. Curiously, he peered in through the window. There it was, his house, just how he had left it. It was undoubtedly his, all right. Kevin took the key out of the slot and resumed his spot against the window. He watched closely as his living room vanished, leaving behind the shell of a room, empty and dark. The light turned green again. Satisfied yet still uneasy with his experiments, he returned the key, waited for the red light, and took hold of the door knob. Everything was there, his dishes, his laundry, the television, which was on channel 50 as he had left it this morning. There was even the strong reminiscent smell of chicken in the air that he had made last night. Of course, all of this was here before he had left for work this morning, and before the strange men in matching apparel had come and transferred his home, and all of his belongings that went along with it, into merely digital information on a key. Kevin sighed at the remembrance of this recollection. I mean, sure, it was sort of his house, if you want to see it in a materialistic and unliteral aspect. Kevin wandered into his own bedroom and plopped onto his backside on the bed. Many thoughts ran through his mind as he slowly breathed in and out. As he looked around him, he was quickly distracted by the realization that the men had even recreated all of his things. Everything was particularly programmed to make him feel at home. But it didn’t change the fact that he felt so strangely about the whole ordeal. “This isn’t it. This is surely my house, but certainly not my home,” he said. His voice amongst the silence of the house nearly startled him. He imagined his sky blue house with white surrounding fences on 65 Eltington Street. He could walk right outside the door of this house and get a coffee across the street on a chilly autumn afternoon… He did not even realize what was going on before he found himself outside, removing his key and walking fast-paced towards Eltington Street. He contemplated that at this pace he could arrive there before dark. For the first time all day, he felt a warm, optimistic feeling rush through his veins. The plan seemed so easy and painless. He would simply reach his own home, insert his key, and attain the feeling he was longing for; that all was right at last. He would take a shower and resume his work right before cooking himself up a pot of dirty rice. His daydream-like thoughts were interrupted much sooner than intended. This was without a doubt where it should be. Right here. Right across the street from the coffee shop. Sky blue house with a white fence. And then a red light. Kevin’s stomach twisted and turned over. His eyes focused on the fire engine red light for a long moment. He knew the harsh reality that was shining right in front of his face. Suddenly, to him, this was the reddest red he had ever seen. A family was in his house. It was not vacant. Someone else was living here. The mere mental image of these strangers nauseated him beyond belief. To make this image only more vivid, he found himself at the window, looking in. This wasn’t right at all. This wasn’t how it should be. A family of four sat on an unfamiliar brown leather sofa, watching this season’s hit sitcom, comfortably. Who were these people to be in his house? To be in this very important house; Kevin’s only home? This home was the only home where he could truly feel real and attain a sense of belonging. He had never felt so ragingly disappointed. Slowly, he closed his fingers around an identical, orange-handled key. A massive grin appeared across his face at the thought of the last house’s transformation of lights, earlier that evening. Or had it been days? Weeks? “Home at last,” he stated with a smile. And then, he pulled.