The wishper
Have you ever noticed how the sweet wind feels over your sweaty body? Especially in summer...soft, sweet, strangely comforting. That’s what I notice right now, even though the windows are sealed. I open my eyes, finding myself inside a car parked still somewhere on the street. Every door and window is shut tight.
And yet, the wind.
I must be imagining it. But then my hands are sticky and warm. They tremble slightly.
There’s blood.
It’s mine. I don’t know how, but I know it is.
I try to see everything possible within the small space of the car. The whole place reeks of rusty metal and something coppery, it's blood. I lower my gaze to the side and find a white landline phone laying next to me. I pick it up. It’s very old. Nearly dead. No. 3 key is broken, and no sound comes from it. I think it’s silent. Lifeless.
Until I bring it closer to my ear.
A sharp pain goes through the right side of my head. My body jerks. The phone slips from my hand and falls on the floor with a dull thud. My breath shortens. I sit still, one hand clutching to my forehead, what is happening?
Slowly, I pick it up again. As I lean forward, I notice the carpet — soak in red and brown blotches of blood. I stare at it. My mind is not processing and my pulse are moving fast.
I press the phone to my ear again.
There’s something this time. Not a voice exactly, maybe a whisper. I try to say something,"Hello... is there —"
A low crackle. Then a sound. A man’s voice — not speaking, just… that almost silent breathing. Then a faint moan.
My throat tightens.
I wait there, my body freezes but no word comes out.
Just that sound like someone miles away, hurting quietly. The line clicks. Dead silence. I lower the receiver slowly. My fingers trembles.The dial tone never comes back.
