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pitchmid06
May 16th, 2012, 03:38 AM
The telephone rings, the tones bouncing around inside your head like nickels in the dryer. Onthe other end of the line the voice is indecipherable, the conversation unremembered. The plastic cover of the phone shatters against the face of the clock whose numbers gleamed like bile. 8:47am.

Inside your chest a balloon swells and salt stings your eyes. The nausea takes over as the greying slate walls of the dorm room won’t cease to spin and the fluorescent ceiling lights create a kaleidoscope of color through a veil of water. The blood on your hand stains the cross on your neck while the fresh hole in the wall reflects the emptiness. The darkness begins to spread despite the fact that from within the abyss someone calls, their hands on your shoulders sear your skin and the bedframe can no longer bear your burdens. It sighs its relief as you stagger to the door but the light in the bathroom hits your eyes like the sun during your morning hangover.

In a world of pristine white linoleum three imperfect spheres of red fall from your fingertip and continue their tedious race to the drain until one lingers ever so slightly on the edge before throwing itself into the depths. Out in the courtyard bells from the clock tower toll as though announcing the victor. Ten obnoxious chimes that match your steps to the door; your thoughts find you now in the deafening silence and the need for noise and chaos becomes overwhelming.

Your thoughts scatter and are replaced by the pounding of feet on concrete. The music finally provides some semblance of relief while the pain in your muscles leaves no room for the intangible pain that continues to linger. Blue and cloudless, the color of the sky and the radiance of the sun are dulled and distorted through polarized lenses. The winter air burns your lungs as you continue to count your footsteps and stare down at the tiny blue bar on your iPod creeping ever closer to the end as the timer continues to plod towards 0:00.

Finally the tears start to flow even though the glare of the sun has long since been replaced bythe soft hue of the streetlights beneath a starlit sky. The quiet drone of the engine and gentle hum of the tires as the car travels down an empty highway tests your focus. Your hands struggle to dial the keys on the cracked screen until finally, your voice, raw from the day’s events whispers, “The funeral’son Thursday. I’ll be home soon.” All the while the dim red numbers on thedashboard flicker perpetually, 11:29 pm.

Dearest
May 16th, 2012, 10:42 AM
This seems to be more of an experience than a story. Still, try not to get too sucked into the details. In the third paragraph, especially, I had a hard time figuring out what was going on.
I did love the last line.

D1flyinggoose
May 16th, 2012, 08:39 PM
No interaction of characters , But i do like it

xlwoo
May 18th, 2012, 02:43 PM
I have no idea what you want to tell readers, what is the LOSS.

Dearest
May 18th, 2012, 08:55 PM
I have no idea what you want to tell readers, what is the LOSS.

I think it's pretty clearly the death of a loved one, as implied by the funeral. However, I don't think the specifics of the loss matter so much as the emotions involved.