The screen buzzed the nine o'clock news as the reporter with wavy brown locks described an accident on 7th street. It was a fatal car crash, one person in each vehicle. Only one survived, without a scratch and the other died on impact. I never paid attention much to the news, I usually had it on any to hear some noise once in awhile in my empty apartment, but for some reason I was enthralled in this event. I felt a deep pain in my chest as I thought about the one who died, but I had no relationship with them. I had no idea who it was or why I felt so horrible.
A loud ring startled me and I turned and saw it was my phone. I sighed, wondering who would be calling so late on a weekday. I picked it up, but there was no answer, only a soft wind sounded on the other side of the phone, or perhaps it was breathing. Either way I hung it up unnerved, wanting to return to my couch. Before I could step again the phone rang again; I ignored it for three rings then picked it up and was met with the same sound as before. I quickly hung up and it rung almost immediately. I was caught in a mess of fear and anger. I answered the phone with a demand to know what was going on and was shocked and terrified to hear a whisper tell me that they need to take me away. The phone was hung up and I was left with a click.
Those words felt cold and my body felt so chilled. What was going on, I went back to my couch and rolled up in the nearby blanket, wanting terribly to sleep and forget all of this. I tried and all I could hear was the television news. And in that news were three words that made my breathing catch and my thoughts stop; Mark Phoenix, deceased. That was my name...And as I took the covers off, I saw my picture and heard a light knock on my door. The knock came again and again. For some reason with that knock came relief, I couldn't be dead. I was right here. I was alive, my heart was beating and I was breathing so, this is all some sick joke. It all just had to be a joke, a bad joke. I almost ran to the door, hoping to see a friendly face, and in a way I did. A young man, about my age with a face covered by a hoodie stood there, hands in his sweater.
He said nothing, but reached his hand to me. I felt my body chill more as I slowly went to take his hand, my body felt so resistant, but there was another part that wanted this. That part lead my hand and as I grasped his warm hand, I felt a smile creep on my face and tears fall from my eyes. I felt relieved and warm, but I felt as though I just lost something precious.