THE TELEPHONE CALL story

Harsh invectives came streaming from the mouth of some deranged stranger on the other end of the phone.

It was like an assault of exploding cannonballs foreign to my mind. These words repeatedly pounced as a collection of snarling alley cats. I was simply a mouse, minding my own business. And I was.

I wished I hadn’t been in such a hurry to answer the ringing. Was this an evil person? His surging hot anger was obviously accumulated from memories of sad living. Perhaps his uttering was a reminder of his hostile and unsatisfactory life.

But why did he feel it necessary to punish my ears?

I was transfixed, unable to slam the phone down, mesmerized by the accounting of obviously a sad life interspersed with raucous infections of hate. As wounding words sounded in my mind I could almost feel the spray of spittle from angry lips.

I finally slammed the phone down, closing my thoughts to his memories of anguish. But they continued to rocket through my brain, creeping in dark corners from a basket of filth. His nasty words had assailed me as rotten fruit.

Why were such words directed at me? Surely this must have been a random call, not specifically designed to overwhelm me with its venom. I felt I was a good living man, looked after my family, attended church. Prayed for others, even clothed the naked, delivering bags of unneeded clothing to the Salvation Army.

Right?

* * *

© 2005 Richard L. Provencher
All Rights Reserved

first published March/April/May 2007
Volume 1 Issue 4
Stellar Showcase Journal
Oshawa, Ontario ISSN 1911-1819

URL for Richard L. Provencher
http://writers.ns.ca/Writers/rprovencher.html