Hanging on the telephone

I’m in the phone booth across the street.
It’s trashed, but I’m hiding here.
Calling on my cell.
Why can’t we talk again?
I’ll keep ringing!
Hanging on the telephone Don’t answer – I’ll keep ringing.
Switch off the sound – I’ll vibrate in your pocket!
But why can’t you answer?
Saw your mother just now. She going to work? The store?
All those things she said.
I told you…
Why didn’t you listen?
Godsake. Pick up!
When I don’t hear your voice things go… wrong.
Can’t we talk again? I want to tell you…
Sirens. Your mother’s called the cops!
I can’t control myself. I’m coming…
I just want to show you some… affection.
Don’t leave me hanging…



© TheSupercargo

The above was written for the Friday Fictioneers flash fiction forum. The prompt: a clapped out US telephone booth. As soon as I saw it, Blondie’s  “Hanging on the Telephone” started on a loop in my head. Perhaps I should add that I’m aware the illustration limits the text; in fact there’s no reason to assume the speaker is a woman. Blame Debbie Harry 🙂

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