HOME ALONE (1990) is a comedy film in which an 8 year old boy is accidentally left behind at home during the holidays, and has to fend off two burglars.
12/08/09 | Film

Home Alone

by Ken Baumann

Mom left for dinner with brothers and sisters. I’m going to kick the soccer ball over the television and into a laundry basket.

The television is shattered. There are pieces of it all over the carpet. I am in deep shit.

Go up to the closet. Lie on your back. Masturbate. Moonlight comes in from the window. Climb on the roof. Lie on back. Masturbate. Pretend to masturbate like a girl. Be quiet, the neighbors.

Back in the attic, down the stairs. Creep around shattered television pieces and retrieve soccer ball. To the kitchen. Break something.
Eat cereal.
Approaching midnight. Time to clean up. Clean up, or dance naked by the living room windows.

I am tired from dancing. I want to sleep. Kick soccer ball against the wall and go upstairs and put on clothes. Try to masturbate. Read a book. I am lonely. Nobody come home, please.

Next day, nobody is home. Am I a Kafka bug? Check face in mirror. I am still kind of scruffy, but human. Parent and brothers and sisters still not home. There is sun, coming in through the kitchen windows. The television is still broken, that was not a dream. It happened, I am still home.

I have to shave.

No I don’t.

Masturbate. Stop half-way through and feel miserable for three hours. Let your stomach growl.

Eat something. Bugle Boys, maybe. Eat the whole bag and still feel hungry.

Make a phone call with your imaginary cell-phone.

Look in the mirror.

Nothing is coming from your eyes, your hair is not on fire, you are not covered in ants.


Don’t come back.

I feel nice and tired, maybe I can sleep until I’m forty-five and married, until I have a nice cabin in the woods somewhere, and infinite amounts of organic food that is good for me.

Lots of books to read.

I never have books to read, here.

I need a book, and sleep.

Parent. Brothers. Sisters.

I am in deep shit.

I can stave them off with a spear fashioned with a broom and forks.


In real life.

That won’t happen.

But parent, brothers, sisters. That is certain. They will come back.


I’m not sure of anything anymore, not when I can’t even turn on the television.

More imaginary phone calls on the imaginary cell phone.

My bed is fucking uncomfortable.

Please come home, somebody. I’m losing it, maybe, but I don’t know what that means. Can I read and learn things without trying to connect A to B and B to C? I don’t think so. That is learning. Kick the soccer ball.

Parent. Brothers. Sisters.

I am in deep shit.