Hello, it’s me, tiredhamster. Yes, that is my real name, and today, I’ve got another story. As you may or may not know, been writing stories based off random song titles on my playlist. Today is “Telephone Line” by Electric Light Orchestra. Tomorrow will probably be the last story of this series. What song will be next? Who knows! Enjoy!
“Ah yes, I remember those,” the old man said. The tiny structure stood, alone, on the other side of the street. The old man looked down the empty city street and crossed over. As he approached he saw the darkened space within the telephone booth, along with the ancient and discarded etchings across its windows.
The hinges squealed as he stepped inside. To his surprise, it was an old rotary phone. Many years ago, when he was young and dumb, he spoke to her using a booth just like this one. It’s been years since he saw her face, but sometimes her lips appear when he closes his eyes on blue and quiet nights such as this one.
His hand dug into his pocket, snatching a couple of quarters he didn’t know were there. Then his fingers inched toward the phone. But they stopped, hovering just before the grasp. However, his hand fell to his side. He was quiet there, for a moment, in that phone booth. Finally, he stepped back outside. The air was still, but he could see a breeze moving through the black branches of trees in the distance.
The old man continued his journey home, stumbling beneath the view of stars. When he stepped into the doorway of his home, the only light he saw was a window glowing with night. He turned on the lights. “Hello?” He searched, but his wife wasn’t home. He wasn’t sure where she was, but a part of him was relieved. He didn’t feel like speaking, not tonight, as he found the bed and turned to the window which refused dream.