The phone rings in the middle of the night. And rings. And rings. I try to answer it, but can’t find it. My hand flops around the nightstand like the proverbial fish out of water. I’d laugh if it was funny.
Finally, my fingers find the phone. “Hello?” Who’s calling?” No sound. But the ringing continues. Ringing! Damn!
Where’s the light? It’s too dark. I can’t find anything! The ringing again! Did it ever stop? My head is going to implode. Except the blasted ringing keeps it from collapsing. The irony is not lost on me how the only thing that saves me is the very thing that tears at my sanity.
I huddle on the floor in a corner. And wait. I wait until the doctor comes to change my medication. Then sleep again to dream. Or wake to find the phone.
Flash Fiction Challenge “The phone rings in the middle of the night”