Prompt: Every time the telephone rings I hold my breath (Wrong Number (I Am Sorry, Goodbye), Aaron Neville)

I swear the telephone's cursed.

No, I mean it. 

This sounds like one of those dumb 'BASED ON A TRUE STORY' B-list horror movies. Even I can accept that. 

But I'm not joking. Not a bit. 

I wish, yeah? That would be nice. 

Anyways. Let's go on.

I used to worship the telephone. Revered on its platform, worshiped on its marble pillar. That marble pillar being the end table by the couch. Phone calls were precious to me, especially after the Exam.

Yeah, yeah. Dystopian thriller. And them I'm about to say that something happened to my test results, and I'm a special little snowflake. Forget it. But everyone was crowded around the landline, waiting to hear their scores. It's ranked per class, like class rank, but for an exam. The Exam.

Apparently it's real important for jobfinding and such, like certain places will only take ten or above. I'd heard rumors that someone wanted to breed all of the ones together to make some sort of genius child.

I guess they would call it... A brainchild. 

What, no applause? That was a brilliant pun.

But you want to hear how my phone is haunted by the ghost of my ex-mother's brother-in-law, or something along those lines, right? Let me go on. 

You couldn't walk into the living room without seeing it, that telephone upon its little stand, just waiting to be accessed, for the school board to tell me my score. Now, I was no genius, but I was pretty well-off with my studies, so I expected something in the twenties or maybe in the teens. You should have seen school the day after the test, buzzing with Exam info.

"I heard Kris is one of the top two."

"Duh, she's valedictorian!"

Or something like:

"What did you get on that one about the two trains going at twenty miles per hour?"

"You missed that one? That's child's play!"

Or even the occasional:

"Pfft, I didn't bubble in a single answer. I don't care about their ranks. Not like I'd get a good one, anyways."

"No way, dude!"

I would do my summer homework in the living room. I would take my meals in the living room. I lived in the living room, which I guess is it's point, right? It's in the name.

You know what they didn't teach you in school? That Russia had nukes that could demolish cities pointed at the US around the clock. And they didn't tell you that strife between the two countries rose to critical levels. You know what else they neglected to tell you? When said missiles are fired at every major city in the United States.

I know, right? Big blast of information right there.

Too late to take countermeasures by the time we had detected them. Everybody saying goodbye. The paranoid ones running to ancient bomb shelters. Me, I went to the neighborhood Target, which had been constructed over an old store that had a fallout safehouse. I was home alone, both of my parents were at work. Did they know? Did they try to call me on that accursed phone? I didn't know then. I just grabbed my bike and pedaled for my life.

Ever seen those movies with spies when they have a certain amount of time do something or save someone before time runs out? It was like that, with an internal clock running down in my head. By the time we detected the missiles we had minutes. 

Minutes. 

And to think some poor schmuck was posting on Twitter: WILL MISS U ALL AFTER I DIE #blessed

I don't think you know what panic looks like. We've all forgotten an assignment and felt that rush, but let me paint you a picture.

Pedaling for my life, my legs trembling so bad I can barely move. My hands are shaking and sweat pools on the handlebars. Silent screams tearing at my throat, tears stinging in my eyes. Anxiety crashes over my stomach in waves and I'm about to pee my pants. Bike tires wobbling over cracked pavement. A neighborhood coated in sheer terror. 

The Target was mobbed by people, the automatic doors slammed open by terrified citizens, all rushing inside, screaming for the safehouse. Hadn't seen so many people in one place before in my life. Babies crying, kids wailing, mothers wrapping their arms around their precious little ones. I headed to the back of the store, where an ever greater crowd had gathered, stuffing themselves into the safehouse. One by one.

I got in line. Shuffled around a bit. A fight broke out to the left of me, two men swinging at each other with all they have. Blood flecked the pavement. More screams, a few people interject, tell them not to act like animals. We'll all get in fine.

Tick tock goes the clock.

Until a missile lands and demolishes it. 

I got in the safehouse and am instantly crammed against the people behind me. Packed in until we literally cannot move another inch. I was smashed against a middle-aged man and his wife, who was weeping profusely, and a kid who couldn't have been older than eight was shoved against my knees. The man at the door has to shut it in the face of a mother and her family and dozens of other people who want to get in.

I'll never forget her expression. That look on her face, the terror in her eyes. Everything crumbles but she stays upright. No blood, no guts, no emotions. 

All of that time wasted. 

I don't know how long we stayed in the safehouse before the missile struck downtown. Ten minutes? Maybe less. The kid in front of me started crying and I squeezed his shoulder encouragingly. The names of loved ones were passed along like a game of Telephone.

"Is there a Frank Wheeler here?"

"Dimitry! Where's my son?"

Tara and Kevin Marsh. My parents. Their names were on my tongue, but I couldn't get the words out. 

The bomb struck. If we weren't packed together so tightly we would have fallen to our knees. It's like the earthquake simulators they have at museums, where the world trembles and shakes like Jell-o. We're lost in empty space, rocked back and forth. Strangely enough, the after the blast is almost peaceful. A breath was let out. We were alive. 

No radiation, they said. You can go home, they said.

But what is home now?

So I got out of the shelter, knees a little wobbly. I found my bike. It had fallen on its side, but looked pretty okay. In fact, everything looked pretty okay. Must have been a localized blast. I don't know, I'm not a criminal mastermind. I'm no politician. Now I'm a survivor.

Mom and Dad don't come home. They never do. I still set their place at the table, imagine them coming in through the doors. 

"Hey, there's my boy!" That's Dad.

"Did you get home all right?"That's Mom.

"Fine, Mom. You don't have to worry." That's me.

Except they're not here anymore. 

We rebuild. Searches go out for the missing. I pin a picture of Mom and Dad on one of the 'MISSING' boards, but don't conduct a full search. I know in my heart they're gone. Probably operating in some state of shock.

Messages go out over the radio about the state of the cities. The missiles weren't meant to level the cities, just send a message. Main portions were completely obliterated, some, like my still-intact suburbia, left untouched. Banks are the first to get back on their feet, but we've already created systems of barter - Pokemon cards as currency, or baseball cards. I've heard that bottlecaps can fetch quite a price. 

Phone lines are dead. Now you see where I'm coming from, right? So I get home one day after trading my Elvis Andrus collection for some groceries and hear the first alert that something's wrong.

"You have four new messages."

From the phone. The phone that was going to determine my destiny. The phone I don't even care about anymore, but keep it for novelty's sake.

"First message, from Dad."

Static crackles and I hear my father's voice over the speaker, so real and so near I almost cry.

"Hey, son. Long day at work, so your mother and I are going to meet up at that new place in downtown, Mason's, for dinner. Pizza is in the fridge."

"No, no, Dad, no..." Cradling the phone. He's gone. I know he's gone.

"Second message, from Mom."

"Sweetie, I know Dad called, but just wanted to check up with you. Did you get home safely? I bought Papa John's and froze it a while ago, you remember how to reheat. Love you! Bye."

Calling about pizza. My ride home from school. Is that it? How simple was life back then? I was worried about the Exam? Of all things, the Exam?

Should have read the paper. Watched the news. Should have been prepared. Should have known. 

Could have saved them. 

"Third message. Ermagherd the School Board Tell Me My Exam Score Now."

I had smirked, remembered when I reprogrammed the name one day waiting for my score.

"Exam Score Alert: This is a message for the Exam scoring of Geoff Marsh. Official Exam score: Twelve. Thank you for your participation."

Normally those words would have filled me with excitement, releasing all of the tension of the past few weeks. I was empty. I didn't care.

"Fourth and final message, from Dad."

The gravity in his voice told me he knew. 

"Hey, son. Me again. We heard the news, your mother and I. Twenty minutes. The streets are jammed with cars and there isn't a safehouse withing walking distance. We're not going to make it."

"I know, Dad, I know..." Tears tug at my eyes, my cheeks flush red.

"What can I tell you in twenty minutes? There's no way I can put into words how much I love you in twenty minutes. Here, it's your mother."

There's a shuffling as the phone switches hands and my mom's voice filters through the phone, choked with crying. "Oh, honey, it's mom! I know you didn't pick up, so I'm hoping you found a safehouse. Oh, honey, we're not going to make it, we're staying in the restaurant. Food is on the house, though, and we thought we should call you and say our goodbyes.

"I still can't believe it. A missile, that's what they said. But I'm wasting my time, I have minutes with you. 

"Remember when we went to the beach and you thought you saw a shark and didn't go in to the water again? Oh, and your first baseball game! Your father and I were so proud of you when you got your first home run. And now with the Exam scores - you shouldn't fret, you'll do fine. Any school would be mad not to take you, you're so smart.

"Oh, honey, how can I tell you how much I love you? Even when we fight, just seeing you there... Oh, listen to me ramble. Here's your father again."

I wasn't even trying to stop the tears then; they dripped onto the speaker of the phone, but Dad's words came through as clear as day.

"I can see you in the living room, glancing at the phone, son, and your mother is right. You'll do fine. You're the best son a father could ask for, and I never imagined it would end like this. I'm going to miss your graduation, your first job, your marriage. Our grandchildren, we'll never see them. Take lots of pictures, okay?

"Son, I can't put it into words. I can't fathom how proud I am of you, and how well I know you're going to do in the world. Mom's back, we're going to say goodbye together."

"I love you, honey. So, so much. I'll remember you forever, even when I'm gone. You remember your parents every once and a while too, right?" Mom whispers, and I smother a sob. Not Mom. Not that way. 

"Goodbye, son. I would shake your hand now if I could, give you a hug. A hug from your old man, eh? Go out and do something great, son. We'll always be with you."

Hauntingly beautiful, those words. We'll always be with you. 

"It's coming now, dear. I can hear it. Oh, God, I love you, son. I wanted to be there! Who cares about fairness now, though? Please take care. Stay safe. Do good things with your life, stay strong, never give in. Never lose hope. I love you, son!"

"Goodbye, honey. Kisses and hugs." Mom's voice is blurred with tears, and I mouth the word 'goodbye' back to her. 

"One last goodbye, son. I love you so much."

The line went dead.

That was two weeks ago. I disconnected the phone, burying the pain it had caused me, the memories it contained, the promise left unfulfilled. 

Until one morning when I get dressed I hear the phone crackle and a voice pours out of the speakers.

"Honey? It's your mother. Did you get home safely?"

 This brings about the end of the series of song-line prompts. Which one was your favorite? Least favorite? Comment here! 

DID ANYONE ELSE SEE SHERLOCK??? (As you can probably tell, I did.) WHAT DID YOU THINK???