What if?

What if theres a reason?

Different.

The one thing I've never seen off of a mirror. Oh and the year book photo.

A tall man, dressed fully in black not one inch of innocence or happiness visible. I glared up at his face, the adrenaline kicking in. His eyes were ice blue, almost snowflake patterned, he had a strong jaw and, from what I could tell from under his hood, he had cute quiffed light brown hair which really constrasted with the death stare he was giving me.

"Blackwood."

He kept the straight face and strode right past me into my hopefully-not-clown-infested house.

"Excuse me?" I angrily attempted to jerk his arm but it was completely rock solid. Who does he think he is?

"You'll get used to it. All newbies do," he sighed and scanned the kitchen, "Eventually."

"Who are you? What company are you from? Please get out out my house.., who are you?" I insisted, this guy walks in and thinks he owns the place, wow. What a jerk.

"Cool it, ok?" He pushed my head away from him by whacking me with his hand, as if I was a fly.

"What? No, this is my house, my questions. Actually, get out of my house, please. What do you want? Are you like a casual thief? You're scaring me, please just tell me what you want."

He kept on filing through the cabinets and even checked the fridge, I don't have a clue why he would be interested in my house, he hasn't pocketed anything. Pepper spray?

"Shut it bambi just move alright?" He didn't even look back at me or stop to actually take anything in, he just moved around, urgently searching for something. And what's a bambi? Is that some kind of insult? Who does he think he is?

"What do you want! If you just told me then-"

"Ugh. Just go," he hesitated, "get me some matches, or a lighter or something," he demanded and carried on his search.

"No."

"Excuse me but if you want to live you listen, clear? Yes. Matches, now."

This guy had the nerve to walk into my house, and is now giving me orders? For some reason I'm not as afraid as I should be, but he's still freaking me out. I really don't understand. What the hell is going on here?

I took my lighter out my pocket (safety first, you never know when you're gonna get attacked) and handed it to his outstretched hand.

"Thank you. Now I'm going to blow up your house so unless you want to be bambi crumble then you better run."

"What no! This is my-"

He cut in again, "RUN!"

No, he can't do this.  But I have to run, do whatever he says, terrorist are dangerous, I know that, but my house? Why mine? I not exactly the president. There's nothing special about this house.

What if there's a reason?