found via pfv
Pick up the phone.
It has rung over forty six times, over forty six seconds of nothing but pure tonal notes that mimic the foreshadowing caw of the deadly crow calling out to the new foreboding, mournful sunrise. Pick it up... but the fear runs in the veins like shards of miniature icicles, daringly traveling and dancing through the blood streams with the cautious knowledge a murderer would have. Pick it up... Pick up the GODDAMN PHONE, because the nauseous bottomless black hole that sucks and tears at your very courage, the turmoil at the pit of your stomach - your gut - will never, never go away.
