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Challenge
The mundane turned suspenseful.
Take an ordinary occurrence and ramp up the tension. Make the everyday exciting. Be sure to keep your story under 1000 words. This is an exercise in brevity and suspense-building. Fiction, nonfiction; either works. The form, however, must be prose rather than poetry. Feel free to tag me, @anniejlou , in the comments!
Profile avatar image for WhiteWolfe32
WhiteWolfe32

NO SIGNAL

My phone is dead.

On an ordinary day,

This would be fine.

But today was not

Ordinary.

My mom

Is in the hospital.

I need to call her.

Sir, I don’t care

About your cheap ass phone.

I need

To call

My mom.

She’s scheduled to die

In six minutes.

She might live longer,

But she might die sooner.

So mate, please

Give me the phone.

I’ll do anything.

Don’t try to play those games with

me. Just

Give me the phone.

The man

Hands it over.

I frantically type in my mother’s number.

Each ring

Sends alarm bells off in my heart.

Will I make it in time?

Will I make it in time?

A pick up...?

No.

Voicemail.

“Fuck!” The word slips past my teeth

in a rush.

I grab my phone and run to the nearest

Apple store. I hope to God that

They still carry iPhone 5

Chargers.

I need to call my mother.

Desperate, I buy

The cord I need

And I plug it into

The wall.

The low battery symbol is displayed.

I wait.

Inside, my intestines scream in agony,

My heart burns.

But outwardly,

I stare at the screen.

Three minutes.

Will I make it in time?

Two minutes, and at last

My phone begins to restart.

115

114

113

Lock screen.

I type in the numbers with

The speed of light

100 seconds left.

99

98

97

I click on the phone icon

90

89

88

87

86

85

Dialing.... dialing...

Please pick up, Mom.

79

78

77

76

75

74

73

72

71

70...

“Hi, you’ve reached Worthester Hospital.”

Blessed words.

“Hook me up with my mother. Marie Cartigen. Room 1754. Now! It’s urgent!”

“Please wait a moment...”

There is the beeping tone of being out on hold, and

I scream in frustration.

But only in my head.

All that comes out is

A small suppressed moan.

Mom, hold on,

Hold on.

I’m coming.

Stay alive a minute longer.

“Lauren?” My mother’s raspy voice

Comes over the phone perfectly.

I can hear the disease in her throat,

Her lungs.

Oh mom,

Why’d you have to smoke?

“Mama?” My voice is weak.

“Lauren, I’m still here, baby. I’m pulling through. The doctors say I might be okay. I might be okay!”

I’m crying on

The floor of an Apple store.

My mom is okay.

My mom is okay.

I am 21 years or older.