Okay guys, this is something that had been bothering me for the past weeks. This was going to be added on The Everlasting Rondo, novel that I wrote for Nanowrimo, but I scrapped it and turned it into a stand-alone project. What is it about? Well, it’s about someone trying to forget someone else but at a cost. You can never gain anything in life without sacrificing something else. Be warned, this is not a romance story… This is a terror/suspense story with a hint of romance but mostly tragedy. Let’s see how far we go, okay?
By the way, just for the record, the name comes from a song I love. It’s from Portal 2, youtube it… It’s really good.
“He’s an asshole…” He wiggled his nose; the allergy season had started its daily torment on his poor soul. “I wish someone would kick his ass already!”
“Stop… Just don’t…” Markus dropped the backpack near his locker. Kneeling on the dust covered tile floor, he twisted the lock. “I keep forgetting my combination.”
Pietro looked around, sensing that the coast was clear, he opened his locker. Henri peeked into the dark, cold container that his buddy called a locker. His books fell from his hands, dropping on the hard, cold floor. Markus looked at both, suddenly stricken by a cold shiver that ran down his spine. He had never seen them so lifeless.
“What’s going on?” Markus peeked into the dark locker. “Is that what I think it is?” He covered his mouth.
“It can’t be…” Pietro grabbed it.
“Must be some sick joke from those bastards from class B.” Henri looked at all sides, no one was in sight. This was too big for someone to fit inside a locker without taking off the lock. A combination lock was far beyond what these meat heads could do. “On second thought, they are too dumb to even try to do something like this.”
“If it really is them, I’ll beat them to a pulp!” Markus growled, all the while, clenching his fists till his veins seemed as though they were about to pop out.
Holding it in his hands, trembling in fear and despair, Pietro placed it against his heart. Beating faster and faster, he was losing his sight of reality. This can’t be real. Someone must be playing a sick joke on me. I hate you all, I hate you all, I hate you all! Repeating over and over again, a voice echoed within the recesses of his mind. Someone gripped his shoulder, tightening as the pain made him jump.
“Calm down, you know it’s a trick. They are trying to get to you.” Henri was still looking for a sign of guilt in the faces of each passerby. “Go home man, sleep a while, drink a soda, and take it with you.”
“Yeah, think of it as closure.” Markus leaned over to grab his backpack, flinging it over his shoulder. “Better face the truth now than never.”
Grabbing the cracked glasses, he placed them inside his left pocket and walked alone to the front door. Dragging his feet on the ground, the blistering sun blinded his sight. The grass was looking dull, the trees were losing their healthy glow and the birds were gleefully bathing alongside a broken water pipe: summer was upon them. The heat emanating from the sidewalk coupled with the vapor rising from the asphalt; it wasn’t a pretty trip home. As he gazed at the small white house that was next to his, divided by a small wooden fence covered in dried-up roses, he felt his heart skip a beat. That sound, was he going mad? A familiar ringtone, a familiar buzz; someone was trying to make him lose his mind.
Grabbing his phone, he saw it. That familiar photo, that nostalgic sound, that unique name, and that familiar feeling that alienated his fear from the rest of his emotions… “Shit! Damn it!”
Slamming it on the ground, he smashed his shoe on the screen of the phone; shattering all hopes for his past to resurge from the ashes of his pain. Grabbing his head, he fell on his knees. Funny, he had tormenting his knees a lot these past weeks. Tears fell from his eyes. Strange, I don’t feel sad… I feel lost. He gazed up at the sun and shouted, “She is dead! Now, leave me alone!”
Crackling and shaking, something was rattling on top of the desk. A small desk near my bed covered in oxide and wood, it was pretty old and pretty unstable. Anything that would shake its equilibrium would crackle. As the peculiar sound awakened him, Pietro looked around, darkness enveloping his room. Still in a daze, he reached for his phone. The screen was cracked but above all, it was off, though the sound was not coming from his phone. Looking around, poking at the dusty table, he felt it. It was vibrating.
The idea hit him, there was no other phone, there was no other device; except for one. That device was permanently turned off. Reaching for it, he felt it. Quickly removing his hand from it’ smooth surface, he tried again; it still continued vibrating. Taking a hold of it, he dropped it on his lap, covered by a soft, checkered blanket. Looking at it, it seemed like a normal pink, sticker-covered flip cellphone but to him, this was life.
He grabbed it, taking the back part off. It was as he had expected: there was no battery. He threw the phone over to a corner of the room. The silence of the room was shattered, once again, by the vibration. The phone continued vibrating, how was that even possible?
“Jesus Christ, I’m going insane,” he whispered in the darkness, “I’m really going bat-shit crazy.”
The phone stopped. The ensuing silence was quite odd. He sighed, sinking on his bed, covering his body in his bed sheet. Maybe, he was just dreaming and that was a bad dream; a nightmare that would haunt him some other time… but not tonight. He was adamant.
Closing his eyes, he heard it. The sound made chills run up his spine. That ringtone or better yet, the ringtone he had grown so accustomed to. Jumping off his bed, he ran to where the phone lay, flung it over to the bed and placed a pillow over the phone. Silence, sweet silence.
“What am I going to do with you? You’re not supposed to work… you have no battery, no power whatsoever.” Placing his left hand over his racing heart, he wanted to cry, he wanted to scream, he wanted to run, with the mobile phone in hand, and send it flying over to the other side of the street. He couldn’t. “What do you want from me?”
The sound stopped. Reaching for the phone, underneath the pillow, he slowly pulled it out. Closing his eyes tightly, he flipped the phone open. Slowly, he opened his eyes. Gazing at a blue screen with a picture of two green eyes, his heart sunk; maybe even skipping a beat, he saw a missed call from the same phone. How could a phone place a call to its same number? That’s ridiculous. A message popped up, as the light electronic device escaped his weak grip.
A message, no title, no number, just a message; the peculiarities did not end there. The wallpaper faded into a black background, no color, no designs, just black. His trembling fingers pressed the button; the message popped out:
“What does this mean?” He tried scrolling down, but everything else was corrupted. It was a half-baked message that appeared in a phone with no battery and certainly no owner. He was lying, it did have an owner, but that’s where it all became difficult to believe. She had breathed her last, a few months ago, and this phone, along with the glasses, had been buried deep within his memories.