Pick up your phone
She kept checking her phone and e-mail, wishing someone would make contact; the liquid white and blue light reflecting and running down her blank face. The only sounds present in the dull, square room were that of controlled, near silent breathing and the rhythmic symphony of clicks, scrolling and the buttons of the keyboard being frantically hammered.
Come on, come on. Pick up your damned phone!
The call was met with silence, having been the 27th that hour only continued to drive the girl into a more panicked frenzy, refusing to move from her flimsy desk despite her body's needs. Weary lines painted themselves down her face, brought upon her with the ever increasing press of stress. Wry, short blonde hair hung together in clumps, fearing isolation as they slowly withered from lack of care. Palettes of dark blue and purple hung below her hollowed beryl eyes, speaking hushed tales of her day to day struggle.
Sighing, the girl gave in to one of her body's needs, the cacophony of popping joints following her as she trudged her way to the bathroom. Flicking on the cheap, amber light, Amelia closed the bathroom door for what she could hope would be some way of enduring longer, hastily making her way back to her desk after finishing the task. She looked at the aged plastic phone on her desk and heaved a sigh, knowing this night would be the same as the others.
In her garden, enveloped by the night, the man re-dialled her phone number.