Little Boxes

Walls. Tall, strong, imposing, stucco walls.
The car quietly drove down the steet, passing home after home. Although they could hardly be called homes. Not even houses. More like boxes.
Her eyes peered out of the window, staring at the alien world that passed by. Perfectly coiffed hair, perfectly perky implants, perfectly shallow lives. She hated it, and she hadn’t even stepped outside of the car yet. The new house wouldn’t be hers. It would be just the same as every other box that surrounded it.
Her mind went back to her home across the country. The beautiful Victorian house next to the lake. The lush green trees. The quaint town square. Her truthful friends.
But everything here was fake. Just stucco walls forming impersonal homes along the dried out and burnt landscape.
The car pulled up in front of her new house. As she expected, it had no life. Just bare walls with windows like stoner’s eyes, staring blankly out onto the street.
As far as she was concerned, this was hell, and she would never get out.

View this story's 1 comments.