Here’s an excerpt from a short story I’m working on, Cellphone Girl. It’s about a nobody girl who wakes up one day and can receive phone calls to her cell phone in her head. Once her story goes viral, she becomes a sensation.
Feedback’s welcome. I’m planning to publish it soon, as a pair with another short story, on Amazon, as a Kindle Single. We’ll see.
Anna’s cellphone woke her up. A little mechanized version of a currently popular song – one that received no airplay on commercial radio stations but had become a massive viral hit on the web – droned on incessantly inside her head. She was lying on her back on her bed, and the four walls of her small bedroom seemed a bit smaller, seemed to hover over her. Outside, the rain was falling steadily, pelting her single window.
Her head hurt, payback for last night’s cocktails, and the music was making it worse. She tried to roll over, but like a beetle on its back, it was just impossible. She opened her eyes, looked around her spinning bedroom. For a moment, her eyes got caught on a picture on her wall, something she’d cut out of a magazine, an image of a society woman in a fur hat and boa. The phone wasn’t by the picture, or on her nightstand. It wasn’t on her dresser. She wasn’t sure, in fact, where it was.
“Oh, God,” she groaned. She rolled over and pulled a pillow over her head. “Where’s the phone?” The synthesized ringtone stopped playing.
“Anna?” Anna heard a voice say. She recognized the voice.
“Hey, what’s up? How you feeling? You talk to Ben yet?” Anna bolted up, looked around. A wave of pain washed over her head. She winced, look around again. Jen wasn’t in the room. Nobody was. Yet, she could hear Jen. It could be a dream, but she didn’t feel like she was dreaming. She felt like she was hung over. She blinked. She rubbed her eyes. No Jen.
“Jen, where are you?”
“In my kitchen. Why?” Anna was fairly sure she wasn’t sleeping, and she was completely sure she wasn’t in Jen’s kitchen.
“How are you talking to me?” Anna asked, looking up toward the ceiling, as if Jen could possibly be hanging above her. I must be dreaming, she thought.
“The phone. Ever hear of it? Jesus, how drunk were you?”
“Must be,” Anna mumbled incoherently.
“Well, call me back when you wake up. I wanna hear about Ben.” The disembodied voice of her friend disappeared. The pain in Anna’s head grew sharper; her eyes burned. The events of last night materialized in her mind: the club, the pink lady’s, Ben and his inscrutable immaturity, the pink lady’s. How many had she had? Many, judging by the pounding inside her skull.
“Getting up early,” she mumbled. “Makes you stupid.”
Continue reading “Cellphone Girl – An Excerpt”