Colin Lura
The Twin
I was left with nothing but the house. Every once in awhile, the same person knocked on the front door, though I never answered it. When the guy left, I always looked out the window slightly and noticed he was about 28, wearing a black suit, black sunglasses, had black hair, cut, or rather shaved, in an army style kind of way. And most noticeably, the black object sticking out of his pocket was a gun.
“It’s a good thing I never answered the door,” I thought.
He had something else that occasionally emerged from his other pocket, a shape that seemed so familiar, small and oval like with a gold trim, but I just could not place it. He drove a black SUV, with tinted black windows; likely he was an FBI man.
On the fourth of July, I was getting some sleep before the fireworks, when someone started pounding on the door, again. I raised up my head, looked out of the upstairs window and saw a girl, about fourteen and all alone. Across the street there was the SUV with the gun pointing out the window, right at her. I ran downstairs, lightening speed, and pulled her inside. I couldn’t see her very well from the upstairs window, but once we were inside, I saw she was blonde, wearing a purple shirt, with shorts that by the looks of them used to be pants. She had a broad face that looked like mine.
“My name is Jack Mason, who are you and where did you come from?” I asked her.
“Allison, and I was going to ask you the same question, but more important, why do you look so much like me?”
“I have no idea why I look like you, but I live here and I want you to leave!” My reply was a little shout.
“No, I live here!” Her reply was a little shout back.
We started to argue when we accidently touched each other’s hands and that sent an electric shock through us both. At that very moment we knew that I was no longer alone, because we were twins. We were twins.