literature

A thing.

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Literature Text

She wasn’t used to the little chime her “new” phone made when she got a text. She’d only had it a few weeks, and hadn’t been getting texts much for six months by now. Her bedroom was dark, just a multitude of shades of black on varying shades of gray except for near the window… and her phone in its case.

She pondered not looking. She had no reason to anymore, except for some friends she was worried about, but who she knew wouldn’t be likely to text.  Not unless something was seriously wrong… and maybe not even then. She laid there under the blanket for a moment, but the thoughts of her friends maybe texting her drove her to sling the soft plush of her blanket off and swing her legs over the side of the bed.

In the dark she walked across the room with ease, and picked up the phone. It was heavier than her old one had been, slightly different in size and shape. But it used the case that had now been used for three phones, and the familiar smooth leather, size, and shape offered a trace of comfort.

The phone slide out of the case easily, and with one button push the screen lit up, bright and clear.

You Have 1 New Message

It said across the screen, bold and clear. She looked at it for a second, confused still, curiosity claimed her though, along with worry, and she pressed the “Read” button on the tiny touch screen.

“what r u doin? I LOVE YOU!”

Her heart tumbled out of her chest, it felt like. Squeezed tight, pain and hurt and loss all strangling her in the seconds between reading the message and flicking her gaze up to the phone number shown just above the text. She puzzled at the number, trying to figure out if she knew it or not, and realized it was completely unfamiliar. Just another text for whoever had had the number before her.

She put the phone down and went back to bed, slowly. She’d ignored all the other oddball texts and messages she’d gotten on this new phone, and they’d stopped within the first week. She decided to ignore this one, too, even if it was two weeks late.

Even if the words on the screen meant so much to her, if only they’d been from the right person. She pulled her blanket back over herself, and she considered the words. They could have saved her life, she thought, changed her life, if things had just been just slightly different.

In the silence and the dark, she wondered why it had been sent. What was the person doing who had been sent the text? Did the sender mean they loved this person as a lover, a sibling, a parent, a friend?

What if the person the text was meant for was as bad as she was, or worse – as bad as she had been? What if this person was trying to save a life?

She crept back out of bed and back across the room after debating what to do, and finally picked the phone back up again. She hesitated briefly again before she went back to the message.

“I’m sorry, I think you have a wrong number. I’ve only had this number for a few weeks.”

She typed it in carefully, and paused for a second before hitting send. Then she cradled the phone with its slide-out keyboard in her hand, afraid of what the response might be. In the soft empty darkness, she prayed that whoever that original message had been meant for, it would somehow find its way to them. She wished it had been meant for her, and someone loved her enough to say that.

And she waited to see if there would be any response.
Just a something.
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