Fake House

A Story by sam_reisbord

I'm so shallow.

Fake House

I can’t have the real house. The real house has all the necessities. I can go home to my real house anytime. Dad will give me the real house, I’m certain of it. He’ll kick his tenants out and give it right to me. And it’ll take care of me for sure. The real house is perfect you see? The neighbors will be nice. It will raise your first kid. It will be there for you when you get your first job. It’ll be there when your friend needs to stay for a weekend and you’re the only option. It’ll even be there when you get that exciting promotion you’ve been eyeing. The real house is perfect for most people. But I can’t have that you see, and that’s my problem. I need a house with a nice street view, so the neighbors can’t see the unkempt backyard. It needs to have the finest kitchen, so it can disguise my horrible cooking. It needs the big living room so when the mailman’s at the front door and asks me to sign he sees filthy riches and not a filthy couch. And i’ll sign for my package with a gold sharpie, one i’ll keep with me at all times. That gold sharpie will be just like me. My sharpie will give the passing appearance of wealth but on the inside it’s just a cheap tool. My house needs those giant TV’s you see at Best Buy that I know you can’t afford. I need it so whenever I post on Snapchat you can see it in the background. My house needs a place for me to leave out my tickets to the game, front row behind home plate, so when you walk by you can ask me me about it. So yeah, call me shallow. I don’t care. I’ll just go back to my fake house and forget about you.

Until I need someone to be jealous again, of course.