3 Deadly Drabbles - Death Is Calling

An exercise in freewriting with a single theme

Calling Out

For years, I tried to unearth the truth about number’s stations. I would fire up my shortwave radio and listen to the seemingly random numbers and phrases on repeat, trying to find sense in the nonsensical.

That all changed when I began to hear new voices break through the static, each with a message to share. Some sounded scared, others issued warnings, all scared me.

Those were easier to solve, as I was soon able to match obituaries to the voices and their messages. The dead still wanted to be heard, and they had found a way to do it.

Hotline

The ad seemed like some sort of prank, but the nightmares were slowly killing me. I feared sleep, and the panic attacks that came with each time. I feared my heart health, and so I dialed the 800 number.

The monotone voice offered no introduction. It simply asked me the nature of my nightmares, asking for as much detail as possible in a robotic voice.

That first night, I felt unburdened, and I dreamed easily. Same on the second and third night. By night four, the phone was ringing, that robotic voice on the line demanding to be fed nightmares.

Death Wish

Sometimes I ask for death. Deep down, I know it is not something I want, but when I slide into the depths of depression, it feels like death would be a welcome visitor.

I know that I am tempting fate, know that someday, my wish will be answered. I wonder, though, if the reaper will make my passing peaceful, or whether he will conjure up something awful. After all, I have called on him so many times, only to chicken out.

I am now sure that my demise will be something terrible, a death that will be remembered by all.