"Perspectives", by Deliverance.
I do not own the concept of the nature of this island. L.J. Smith does. I am not receiving any compensation for this story, and it may be freely copied, posted, or whatever, so long as this entire heading is left at the top. It contains no spoilers, but like me, it is a little weird. Enjoy! =P
On a tiny, unmapped island somewhere near the Channel Islands National Park, California, a 13-year-old girl named Amy Anderson wandered down a narrow, brown dirt path. It led through a small forest of mostly island oak and iceplant, and finally came to a short arc of rocky shore. The path also passed a phone. It was the only phone on the island, red, with a spinning dial, and attached to an underwater line that had its origins just outside of LA. The phone had been purchased in 1953, and despite a simple wooden hut sheltering it from the harsher elements of its environment, it had not aged well. It had last been used in 1989, and had grown a substantial coating of dust, dirt, and saltwater mud. No one had ever called it. No one knew the number, or really cared, or even thought about it. Everyone on the island was too busy living, loving and working on their lovely, secluded island paradise. Amy did not, at the moment, think it was such a paradise. Nor was she thinking about the phone. In fact, she was thinking that if Raven were the last boy of her kind on the planet, she would marry a human instead. She probably would not have noticed the phone at all. It rang. Amy spun to face the hut. Cautiously, she opened the door and looked inside. She saw a strange red object made of some material that she had never seen. A tightly coiled red vine of some sort connected the lower part, a box with an odd circle of numbers on it, to the upper part, which seemed to be two lumps on a short handle. The strange ringing sound was coming from the lower part. She poked it. That didn't seem to have any effect, so she spun the disk above the numbers and was rewarded with an odd, clicking and dinging sound. She pulled the handle on top, and the ringing stopped. The "vine" stretched out straight, and the whole top half came off. She looked at it for a minute, and then realized it was making faint sounds like someone talking. She placed it on her ear, upside down at first. A crackly voice inside was saying
"Hello? Hellohhhhhh…" Amy wonderingly said,
"Hello?" and the voice in the phone replied,
"Yourrefrigeratorisrunning!", and then was gone. Amy heard a strange, unpleasant note, and quickly put the phone back where she had found it. She never told anyone the cryptic message, thinking it a secret meant only for her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
13-year-old Amy Michaels slammed the phone on the receiver and turned bright red. All her friends laughed and crowded around, asking whom she had called. Amy shrugged nervously, and replied that she had dialed a random number and gotten "some girl". She said,
"I don't think Mom would like us doing this," and everyone laughed. She tried again, "Come on, let's do something else for a while. I don't like Truth or Dare anyway." Rachel said, "Like what?" and everyone looked around. Someone suggested Telephone. Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, that is so elementary school!" Amy's best friend, Michelle, suggested that they play Twister. Relieved, Amy volunteered to get it, and crashed into the pink stucco wall in her haste to run up the stairs and retrieve the game from the shed beside the pool.
I do not own the concept of the nature of this island. L.J. Smith does. I am not receiving any compensation for this story, and it may be freely copied, posted, or whatever, so long as this entire heading is left at the top. It contains no spoilers, but like me, it is a little weird. Enjoy! =P
On a tiny, unmapped island somewhere near the Channel Islands National Park, California, a 13-year-old girl named Amy Anderson wandered down a narrow, brown dirt path. It led through a small forest of mostly island oak and iceplant, and finally came to a short arc of rocky shore. The path also passed a phone. It was the only phone on the island, red, with a spinning dial, and attached to an underwater line that had its origins just outside of LA. The phone had been purchased in 1953, and despite a simple wooden hut sheltering it from the harsher elements of its environment, it had not aged well. It had last been used in 1989, and had grown a substantial coating of dust, dirt, and saltwater mud. No one had ever called it. No one knew the number, or really cared, or even thought about it. Everyone on the island was too busy living, loving and working on their lovely, secluded island paradise. Amy did not, at the moment, think it was such a paradise. Nor was she thinking about the phone. In fact, she was thinking that if Raven were the last boy of her kind on the planet, she would marry a human instead. She probably would not have noticed the phone at all. It rang. Amy spun to face the hut. Cautiously, she opened the door and looked inside. She saw a strange red object made of some material that she had never seen. A tightly coiled red vine of some sort connected the lower part, a box with an odd circle of numbers on it, to the upper part, which seemed to be two lumps on a short handle. The strange ringing sound was coming from the lower part. She poked it. That didn't seem to have any effect, so she spun the disk above the numbers and was rewarded with an odd, clicking and dinging sound. She pulled the handle on top, and the ringing stopped. The "vine" stretched out straight, and the whole top half came off. She looked at it for a minute, and then realized it was making faint sounds like someone talking. She placed it on her ear, upside down at first. A crackly voice inside was saying
"Hello? Hellohhhhhh…" Amy wonderingly said,
"Hello?" and the voice in the phone replied,
"Yourrefrigeratorisrunning!", and then was gone. Amy heard a strange, unpleasant note, and quickly put the phone back where she had found it. She never told anyone the cryptic message, thinking it a secret meant only for her.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
13-year-old Amy Michaels slammed the phone on the receiver and turned bright red. All her friends laughed and crowded around, asking whom she had called. Amy shrugged nervously, and replied that she had dialed a random number and gotten "some girl". She said,
"I don't think Mom would like us doing this," and everyone laughed. She tried again, "Come on, let's do something else for a while. I don't like Truth or Dare anyway." Rachel said, "Like what?" and everyone looked around. Someone suggested Telephone. Rachel rolled her eyes dramatically. "Oh, that is so elementary school!" Amy's best friend, Michelle, suggested that they play Twister. Relieved, Amy volunteered to get it, and crashed into the pink stucco wall in her haste to run up the stairs and retrieve the game from the shed beside the pool.