Phone Call

With no breath escaping me, I put the phone to my ear and listen.

At first, I hear nothing. And then, distant background sounds reach me over the line: the sound of a car passing, the honk of a horn, the squeel of a set of breaks.

My eyes scan the room without seeing, I crouch by the bedside table, I continue to hold my breath, and still, the sounds bring no clarification to the dissaray of my tired mind.

The suspended silence of city sounds draws on like the hiss of an intaking breath, and I will my hand to slam the reciever down. But my hand remains at my ear, trembling. I listen even harder.

Suddenly, I hear a click from the foreground. My senses sharpen, every muscle in my body tightens, and the click is heard with more defiance. But this time, the click releases a jolting fear; the cell door is thrown open in my mind, releasing that single memory that still haunts me. I know that click all to well.

And I know what follows the click.

The BANG that follows utterly surrounds me, thundering from the phone in a way that would seem impossible. I cry out and drop the phone, but the sound has filled the room, sweeping through the window from the street below. My eyes fly to the thick curtain, and I can see the cold searching eyes staring straight through the fabric.

I cringe and duck my head even closer to the ground, tightening my crouch.

The gun is fired again. This time, the window explodes.

The End

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