Hannah Scribbles

#FF: Not the Cellphone!

In Creative on July 12, 2011 at 10:08 am

The television, finally silenced, left its echo in the silence and lengthening shadows of evening.  The world was boring; no one had called all day.  Trisha stretched uncomfortably on the blue sofa and yawned.  Each muscle resisted with its own complaint after hours of stillness, and she grimaced at the resistance as she reached for her phone on the end table.

The phone was gone.

Her eyes were wide now.  Trisha did not remember putting her phone there, but she was sure she had.  Phones had to go somewhere.  Why not within reach?

The weathered table bore an ornate lamp and water stains but no phone.  Trisha turned on the lamp and assayed its surface.  A thin peppering of dust dulled the finish uniformly.  Her phone had never been there.

She jolted to her feet, muscle aches be damned.  A sense of loss and isolation overwhelmed her, leaving her with a head rush.  She knew corybantic arm flailing was a bit dramatic, but as she surveyed the room she gestured madly anyway.   She was alone and found the histrionics comforting.

After searching through the couch cushions, bumping her head while inspecting beneath the coffee table and battling dust bunnies to check behind the entertainment center, Trisha stood in the doorway.  She frowned, her arms planted firmly on her hips, and glared as if accusing the room itself of theft.  Phones didn’t just disappear.

No, phones did not just disappear.  When, by chance, she felt the disturbance in her back pocket, she was glad no one had seen her panic.  She plucked the little computer out and saw its blinking light, a sign that the day had not been so tedious without her.

14 missed calls.

8 text messages.

Trisha shrugged and slid the phone into her pocket without responding.  She hadn’t wanted to be bothered today, after all.

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