The Engulfing Darkness

Dan slumps to the back of the glass. The ringing of the quarter clanking into its cradle lingers in the stale telephone booth. Dan slides down, defeated by the pointless repetition that had maintained his focus for an unknown amount of time. Each try a new glimmer of hope, but over time even that had waned. Some times he had listened for the dial tone, patiently expecting some inhuman frequency to help him communicate his desires, his fears, his hope. Other times he screamed, begged, even pleaded with the nothingness on the other end of the line.

But now he has been conquered. His mental capacity to will happiness into existence lays as a rotting corpse, fouling the boxed air. The Machine above him, a gladiatorial champion. He glares up at his foe, seething with contempt for the silent victor. But the phone only stares apathetically back. Dan's hatred brings him to a stand.  His gaze begins to shift around the booth in a clockwise turn. Shapeless black forms taunt Dan from the corner of his darting eyes. He scans the darkness, lit only by a single, dim, light bulb. The growing fear clutches his insides.

The darkness attacks his anxiety. For every degree of vision Dan's eyes could perceive there were hundreds of others he could not, and they tore into his state of mind. At last he buckles and offers himself to the figures he cannot manage to track, but which he is sure will get him. He clutches his knees, rocking in a corner of the desolate booth, waiting upon the inevitable. Each passing second devoured by subsequent ones. But his fears lead nothing but to more wasted time.

End part 3