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!
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…
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 🙂