This was insane.

I had exactly two hours to vacuum the carpets, sweep the floors, wash the dishes, fold the laundry, and arrange myself into some sort of presentable state before my mother arrived.

Evidently, this was an impossible task. Evidently, I should not have left everything until two hours before my mum returned home. I was told I worked best under stress. Thrived under it, even. But this just might push me over the edge.

My mother trusted me to hold the fort down at home while she was off for an important business meeting in Cairo. I couldn't have been more thrilled. Not that I wanted the house to myself because I wanted to throw a crazy-ass party, though. I would never trust myself or anyone else in our home; there were simply too many fragile wares and appliances in the house for that. Besides, I wasn't into the whole party scene in the first place, which is why I spent my entire week shooting any and all demons that dared to enter my cyber kingdom.

Demons: 0, Me: 1

Oh, the power of my guns. I'd do a maniacal laugh, but I've been told I sound incredibly squeaky when I do so. Not exactly the sound I was going for. You know, it ruins the mood.

But there I am, fantasizing about my video games again. I seriously had to curb my addiction. I wasn't even a hard-core gamer: I had been playing RuneScape and Neopets up until last year, if that's any indication.

Glancing at the clock, I realized I had just lost ten precious minutes in my reverie. I literally threw myself into cleaning at that point, crashing right into the floor-length curtain of my living room.

The Queen of Graceful, my nickname of course. Luckily, I lived in the suburbs, and no one ever walked in front of my home. We had a berry tree in our front yard after all; our driveway was littered with wine-red splotches of fruit. No one wanted to step into those piles of gooeyness.

Yet as I looked outside the window to admire our wonderful berry tree, I noticed a blue polo shirt. Black pants. Brown loafers. Gelled hair.

Oh my Lord, a man was outside my house!

My first reaction was of fear. A strange man outside my home, wasn't that how all murder stories began?

The second was embarrassment. I must've looked like a homeless hag from the subway stations downtown. I was still in my extra large T-shirt pajamas. I had not washed my hair for two days. I stank of curry, which I had for lunch, even though my mother hates that I eat it.

Although, the man outside would not be able to smell it.

Nonetheless, I made a dash for the hallway away from the window, for in the three-second period that I had looked at the man, I had come to the quick conclusion that he was quite nice looking.

And what a bruise for the ego it would be to have any man see me in such a state. Psycho rapist or not. I was at that age, you see. I yearned for male company and acceptance.

Which, if the man outside was a psycho rapist, I was seriously deranged. I really needed to be more paranoid.

But back to the events at hand. As I made my hasty escape from the window, of course I slipped on a mysterious potato chip wrapper on the floor, yelping as my backside slammed onto the hardware floor.

Can someone say ouch?

I did, in my mind at least. If I said it out loud, who knows what could happen. The psycho rapist outside might see it as vulnerability and attack right away. I could not afford to let that happen!

Yes, I had decided that the man outside must have evil intentions at this point. Who else would brave the scarlet berries outside? Who else would stare at the window of a house?

That's what I thought.

I decided that I would lay on the floor for a bit. It was quite comfortable, actually. Hardware floors are supposed to be superb for your back. Good for the posture, too. It was definitely not because I was afraid. Absolutely not.

Alright, just a little bit.

But then, I probably did the most stupid thing possible during such a situation.

I looked outside again.

You're probably thinking, "Oh stupid, stupid girl! Don't you watch horror movies? Never confront the mystery again. Run away, hide - call the police! Sheesh!"

Still, I could not resist. I had to know if the man was still outside.

I slowly inched my head until my eyes were level with the windowsill. I glanced at the spot under the tree where the man had stood before. He was not there.

Sighing internally in relief, I returned to my regular height before shrieking in surprise. The man was still there, higher up on my driveway now! He was coming towards the house!

I had no weapons, no phone nearby, and the windows were fragile. What could I do? The most logical action in such a situation, what would that be?

In my mind, it was to shoot an imaginary gun at the man. Pew pew pew! Take that you demon man. Take that!

Obviously, the stress and fear was getting to my head at this point.

My next thought was to run out the back door and climb over the fence to my neighbours backyard. Finally, a logical thought. But I was never able to act upon that much more plausible solution, for the man suddenly dropped down onto my driveway, unmoving.

Had I killed the guy? But I had no gun! What was this twisted sequence of events? I must be dreaming, I must be dreaming, I must be dreaming…

He suddenly jumped back up into a fighting stance, and fired off his own imaginary gun at my head.

My gaming skills informed to duck, and I did so almost instantaneously, before realizing he had no weapon. I got back up, ready to fire off another round of shots. My arm raised, I began to shoot before realizing that he wasn't standing there anymore. Instead, he had hid behind one of the shrubs on my front lawn. Clever guy, using it as his shield.

Two could play at this game, gunboy.

I drew my curtain and peeked out between the two sheets of material, firing off another round of bam bam bam's with my imaginary AK-47. He was dead meat, this man on my driveway. My shooting skills were just too epic. I faked taking out a pistol from my belt, and blew across the barrel with a confident smirk.

He came out behind the bushes, smiling, and rolled across the driveway, firing off his own air gun. It was incredible, how he could fire and roll at the same time. I could hardly roll in a straight line to begin with.

I mimed throwing a bomb at this point and he made the appropriate flying reaction. I laughed evilly, thinking of the gold I would get from this kill.

That's when I realized I had spent the last five minutes fake-shooting a strange man outside my house, when I should have been cleaning, should have been afraid, should have hidden under the window and called the police. And it was at this moment that I realized that I had nothing to lose anymore. I was most likely hallucinating.

I went outside; he seemed harmless, and he grinned as he picked himself up from the ground to offer his hand to shake.

"I'm Dave."

"Lisa."

"Your aim is stupendous. My wounds still cry for mercy."

I laughed, unable to stop the words from coming out of my mouth. "And your acting is outstanding. I thought you were really hurt, before I realized it was probably just a psycho rapist ploy."

"A psycho rapist… what?!"

I really had to learn to control my big fat mouth. "I mean, you seemed like a psycho rapist at first, considering you were a strange man standing in front of my house, looking at the window. No one walks by our house, you see. The berries, they look like blood splatters… not that we have a bloody reputation or anything. Though we do have blood of course, I mean everyone has blood. It's just that people generally don't want to get their shoes dirty - they normally leap over the spots actually, it's quite humorous. Yet there you are, standing in the midst of such a splattitude, watching my window intently–"

"–I'm not –"

"–and then you respond to my shooting and I have no idea why I shot in the first place or why you shot back and …what?"

"I'm not a psycho rapist. I was planning to visit a friend, but I forgot the number of the house. I remembered a 6, so I decided to just peer into the windows to see if I could find his house that way. Your living room seemed quite similar, so I stared at for a while before you came and smacked yourself against the curtain. I only came forward to see if you were alright."

Oh, sure, I totally believe you.

"I'm serious! Would a psycho rapist ever shoot at you with an imaginary gun after getting caught?"

Whoops, said that out loud. But he made a good point. This last part, I said out loud.

"Well of course. I'm quite sharp, you see. You have to be, to come up with the strategies to win Navy Battles."

I gasped. "You play Navy Battles?" No one knew that game, no one! "…what do you know about cannon upgrades? In your opinion, is the steel one stronger or are the bronze-rimmed bullets a better investment?..." I invited him inside as he began his long, in-depth explanation. And in a small compartment somewhere in my mind, I imagined a little seed of friendship in a magical metaphorical world beginning its life.

Hopefully it grew into a poinsettia shrub. Those were the most fun to shoot, after all.