The phone

The day stretched itself out before me, a yawning chasm of time that seemed to have no end.

It started, when the sun woke me up earlier than usual. I found myself pacing the confines of my living room, my steps a rhythmic echo of my racing thoughts. I was like a teacup, brimming with water, teetering on the edge of a precipice, threatening to spill over with the slightest provocation. The pattern of my existence was such that every alternating day was a replica of this. On the other days, it was a stark contrast, where I would find myself sprawled in indifference, my gaze fixed on the blank canvas of the wall.

I checked the phone. I knew it would ring soon. It had to.

The sun was perched atop the rooftops, breathing new life into the streets below. The vibrant hum of conversation seeped into my room, a symphony of life that was both distant and near. I found myself ensnared in a web of contemplation, considering the myriad of alternative realities that could have unfolded. I pondered over the potential power of my actions, the possible impacts of different choices. Could I have reshaped the outcomes? Could I have sculpted my own reality?

I checked the phone. I knew it would ring soon. It had to.

As twilight descended, silence draped itself over the world like a soft blanket. Now and then, the solitude would be punctured by the fleeting roar of a car, a phantom in the gathering gloom. Yet, no human silhouette dared to dance upon the deserted street. I had forgotten to change the lights, and the encroaching darkness consumed the space around me.

I checked the phone. I knew it would ring soon. It had to.