A crime had turned me into a phone. I tried to get sympathy from Michael but he thought

it was funny. It hurt to laugh, but I had to. My receiver was transparent. I kept saying but

Mike, I'm a phone. (I was still a person, in a way. I still had my legs.)

 

It was on the level of having a terrible deformity, or only one purpose (and not one I

chose). I wanted him to care, but he was being so Mike. There was a flag or something

patriotic on me--imprinted, near the dial. Red and blue and the white of my transparency.

I couldn't even be a regular phone.

 

 

 

 

© Kate Greenstreet

originally published in Conduit