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Boy Who Broke In My Window

By Dhira Vidhea All Rights Reserved ©

Romance / Humor


[Trailer=] Astrid is an unimpeachable girl living life in the ordinary, except for the fact that fun is nowhere in her dictionary. Throughout all her years of living, all she'd hoped for is drama and to experience the wild-life. She opined she wouldn't ever be happy without it. That night, she wished upon a shooting star. That night also, things begin to take a turn. A charming dimwit breaks inside her property. Little did she know, it wasn't merely her house being intruded into, but her heart too. The boy didn't only have prepossessing looks to offer, but also adventures she'd always craved. Overtime, she begins to draw in more and more nonsensical drama; from witnessing an affair, ding dong ditching, to getting involved in numerous fist-fights and disputes with the queen bees at school. But this was what she'd always wanted in the beginning, wasn't it?

I-That Night

I sit up straight to flick off the lights from my nightstand, tucking my lean frame inside the covers. My lids had begun to droop and I’m gradually drifting away into a slumber, listening to the clock; the only source of noise, as it ticks away...


You know what I like about sleeping? It’s never of the outright sordid dreams that occur in my head throughout the duration, but it’s the moment of dwelling before actually falling unconscious.


In three months, I’m going to turn eighteen.

In three months, I’m going to be considered as a legitimate adult.



By then, I’ll be impelled to make life-threatening decisions and be accountable for them. It’s scary to be reminded of the fact that merely yesterday; I was a snobby little rascal who had no clue as of this merciless Earth we live in.

Well frankly, I still don’t; but you get my point.


Is it just me or is the clock much of a bothersome? Geez, if it’d just stop constantly ticking and tocking, I would be dead asleep by now. I grunt in frustration and draw the sheets over my head, plunging down my ears within the covers.

Let’s get back to our initial subject, shall we?

As I was saying, turning eighteen is rather something I look forth to in life. As a matter of fact, I have always longed for that time to come as I’m desperate to depart home. Don’t get me wrong; I’m not, by any means, ungrateful and unappreciative of my home and the wonderful things I’m granted.

It’s just that turning eighteen helps to reason with my overprotective dad. By then, I’ll acquire all rights to the choices I make and I’ll be liberated finally!

I want to experience the stereotypical-mad life of a teenage girl and do witless things without a care in the world; for instance, rampage on the entire neighborhood without a rational cause.

Yet again, that’s not realistic, at least for a goody two shoes like Astrid Sherman, who’s perceived to be too disciplined for such delinquency.

You see, I’m already seventeen, and through all those seventeen years of living, never in my life have I acted even a bit inane. I’ve always been extremely mature and as composed as a rock almost my entire life, which in truth, is not fulfilling at all!

Especially looking back now that I begin to realize how awry it has been for me. When my peers are out TP-ing neighborhoods or juggling around torches and playing with flames; I’m practically segregating myself from the world. Well, I certainly will be missing out on those mindless outdoor adventures; there’s no doubt in that. To sum it up, my life is full of lifelessness, ironic isn’t it?

Daddy insists that it’s because I lack major courage and am too much of a chicken in life. Yet, in my defense, I, unlike most mortals on planet Earth, had once accepted the dare of consecutively lighting my bottom on fire and setting it out by skinny dipping in dim waters of a pond in the center of the neighborhood’s park; pretty reckless, isn’t it? Take into account; I’m a psychologically well female.

Yet here’s where it gets intricate; I want to experience the wild-life. By that, do not assume I was referring to smuggling drugs across the state or abducting Mr. President for fun, I was thinking of the simple sort of excitement.

Before the question arises, I’d like to clarify that I’m not anti-social. I—like every other human creature whose existence I acknowledge, love socializing with people; it’s just that I’m not the best at it.

I’m not miserable either. I’m not mentally unwell or among those girls who self-harm and have constant suicidal thoughts. I’m just the type of lass who is easily anxious most of the times to the extent that I won’t ever let myself do anything but be stiff and monotonous.

You see, that’s my problem.

Oh look, a shooting star! Better make a wish. ‘I wish life can be a lot more dramatic and uh...wild’ I pray.

Just when I was about to lose all my cognizance, the irksome sound of shattering glass erupts from inside my bathroom. I cuss under my breath and promptly jolt up and out of bed to quickly ascertain that it’s not a problem too severe that I can’t worry about tomorrow.

I slam open the bathroom door, paving a grand entrance for myself.

Reflected moonlight gleams through, allowing me to distinguish pieces of glass scattered all across the floors. Have I mentioned of how the window’s damaged, too?

I narrow my eyes to discern more distinctively what surrounds me and what had led to an utterly wrecked window. My eyes skim around and I caught a glimpse of something-or more like ‘someone’.

I gasp and was immediately startled upon a vague sighting of a male stature standing motionless near the window frame. The boy reeks of stale manure and has dirty blonde hair clumsily disheveled over his scalp.

My eyes grow wide as if they’re going to pop out my eye sockets and my heart begins to hammer ferociously against my chest as if it may leap out my rib-cage at any second.

Intuitively, I freak out and unleash a deafening scream of terror; almost splitting my own ears in the process. First of all, there’s a random creep that managed to break in the house and secondly, my costly bathroom window has a huge circular hole on it the size of a butt; which really is the substantial problem.

That’s just great, now I have to pay to get the mess repaired. In other definitions, I have to get a part time job and earn some cash; unless I can bear a pretty massive hole on my bathroom window, of course.

“I can explain” The figure states out of the depths of the bathroom murkiness, as it approaches me, looming closer and closer.

“Yeah well, duh. Explain” I say. I see his foot nearing me, and punctually stepped on it as violently as I can, making him yelp and stumble back, eventually falling flat on his buttocks.

I awkwardly flick on the lights, “Who are you!?” I demand, snatching the first item I can grasp and pointing it towards him. He drops his arm from obscuring his face, letting me identify him. His face looks very familiar, yet solemnly, my obsolete memory won’t let me recall who he is.

“I’m Howard, nice to meet you.” He says casually. “Get out of my property, Howard.” I demand, gritting my teeth.

“Relax. I just got here, lady.” “Look, my dad’s downstairs, and if you ever think of laying a finger, just know that you’re probably one third the size of him.” I lie.

“Okay look, l unintentionally got in. My drunk-ass father is chasing me around the neighborhood with a shotgun, and your house had the only apparent lighted room, so I thought I might as well just break in and escape from that folk.”

“Gosh. What did you do smarty?” I cross my arms over my chest; baffled as to why I’m being shockingly lovely to a dimwit that had broken into my property, ‘by accident’. Perhaps it’s due to the fact that I’m barely fifty percent conscious and my weariness has me drunk out of reality.

“I hadn’t cause trouble-…at least in that case.” He says, pausing to glance out my newly broken window.

“Oh no” I hear hum mutter, as he points his index towards a guy with a grey cap, standing vainly by my doorstep.

“He found me. Tell him I was never here.” He implores.

I’m about to refuse until I notice him carry a weapon beneath his leather coat; a handgun to be precise, which gets me alarmed and fretful.

“Crap. Look, stay here and don’t make a noise.” I order, walking down the stairs to respond to the man’s harsh thumps on my front door.

“Yes?” I reply coldly from the other side.

“Do you happen to see a boy wandering around here? He is wearing a red flannel and stands about six feet tall.” He queries from the other side.

“Nope, don’t recognize him! Bye!” I exclaim immediately.

“Would you be willing to let me in for a moment? I suspect that he might’ve gone into your property.” the man asks. What sort of seventeen year old girl will be willing to let an old and sinister-looking hobo carrying around a loaded gun, inside her house? A pretty foolish one, indeed.

“Excuse me? There’s no boy in red-flannel here, if you don’t leave right this second, I’m going to have to phone security. Now, good night sir.” I threaten, with an icy voice. Anxiety clings deep onto my skin, unlike ever before; I can’t disregard the fact that he has a gun with him.

Although, eventually I hear the man heave out an exasperated sigh and subtle footsteps go farther and farther; he’s left, gladly.

“Oh, I see. Your dad is not actually home, is he?” The guy asks from over my shoulder. When did I ever allow him to exit the upstairs?

“God, idiot! I told you remain there!” I reprimand him of his idiocy. I assume he’s just not very fond of rules.

I begin to pace to and fro. “Okay, what do I do with you now? When do you plan on leaving, again?” I ask, obviously not appreciating the boy’s presence.

“I can’t possibly leave now. My father will threaten to slay me in his drunken state. Can I please stay for the night? Just one night?”

Well then, I assume the mad hobo with a shotgun, is his father. I thought about it for a second. Perhaps, the boy’s got a point. His father does look extremely intoxicated, hence the poor boy will probably get tormented or even killed ‘by accident’ if there’s ever his father around, in that particular condition.

Not wanting to delay my beauty sleep any further, I decide why not? And plus, this can officially be the first irrational thing I’ve done to reminisce about when I become a granny decades later into my tedious life.

“Okay, you know what? You’re free to stay for the night but I’m only letting you sleep in the garage which I’ll keep locked until dawn.” I say, rolling my eyes in which he nods vigorously.

With that, I achieved the first point to my bucket list, which is to adopt a stranded animal. He is a moron, not precisely an animal; but that translates to pretty much the same thing, right?

Lightheaded-Astrid didn’t quite think her decision through during the night she’d let a hormonal moron spend overnight in her garage. Little did she know; this is her beginning to brand new chapter in life. A chapter depicting a world of lunacy; enriched with sets of ludicrous tragedies and roller-coasters she had always craved.

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