Ode to the Red Phone
by Rolf
It sits there quietly, looking harmless as can be. Glowing brightly, a lovely shade of red made deeper by the waning rays of the evening sun. Certainly it can't do me any harm.
Except when it rings, which it seems to quite frequently these days. It requires a response – hiding it isn't one of the acceptable ones. But to answer it requires that I swallow the lump in my throat so I can talk.
Therein lies the problem. A top on the line, demanding answers to questions I'd rather not be asked. The color isn't random, it's a strong warning.
Except when it rings, which it seems to quite frequently these days. It requires a response – hiding it isn't one of the acceptable ones. But to answer it requires that I swallow the lump in my throat so I can talk.
Therein lies the problem. A top on the line, demanding answers to questions I'd rather not be asked. The color isn't random, it's a strong warning.
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