You've likely heard at some point or another that silence, true silence, is deafening. If you haven't experienced this firsthand, it's hard to actually imagine.

Picture yourself in a moss-scarred cave, barely able to see, allocating every ounce of effort into your other senses in hopes of holding onto some semblance of sanity. Waiting for a sound — any sound at all — to break the stasis around yo...

He’s listening, but he’s not listening. He’s looking through me, not at me.

His silver name tag says “Scott, Cellular Expert,” but his unironed uniform gives him away. A polo shirt dyed the royal purple synonymous with CellUStar’s branding sits too tight on his frame. His fabric looks as uncomfortable as I feel.

He strokes his well-manicured beard, his ratty eyes scanning the floor, searching ...

I expected the silence again. The same silence that caused me to feel sick and throw up words. It was the same silence that forced me to answer the phone every time it rang for the last 294 days. I let the phone ring three times before I answered the call from the unknown number each time. I would look at the bright glass like clockwork at 11:11, and my finger would press the green answer button ...

“Holy shit, what’s your issue?”

“My issue is that you might just be the worst assassin in all of Ohio,” Tomas snapped at me.

Tomas was basically the oldest, nastiest, most wrinkly and miserable man between here and the Pacific. And wow, he was really acting like it tonight. He continued:

“Dewey—“

“Drew’s fine.”

“You need to stop vandalizing victim’s homes. Do you know how astonishingly a...

Rain lashes onto the windows, rattling the thin glass. The embers in the fireplace have grown weaker, allowing a chill to enter the room. Clothes lay strewn across the floor, while a fine layer of dust rests upon the clock.

I recline on the sofa, lost in a world of reminiscence. As my finger traces the grainy photographs, small tears stain my cheeks.

It has only been a week, but everything...

You don’t have to look at the phone to know what the time it is. If the phone is ringing, it’s 4:44. Afternoon and night, it doesn’t matter. You don’t know why you bother to put it on silent; it always rings anyway. An airy chime that’s only moderately more tolerable than the default ringtone cutting through the night.

It’s 4:44 a.m. and you are still awake.

Your finger hovers over the green c...

Shelby rocked herself back and forth, trying to drown out the beeping in her ears. Her grey eyes taking in the scene around her. The walls padded out with thick concrete blocks, the metal bed pinned to the wall. She shivered as the concrete floors coolness seeped into her slender frame.

She blinked furiously trying to muster some kind of emotion but still none fell. Her body too tired to fight. ...

Sloutched over my desk in the farthest corner of my room, insomnia plagues my current intoxicated state as I restlessly stare at my phone. I hungrily eye the bottle of ambien that rests a few inches from my hand; the colors of the sleep-inducing drug torturing me to snatch up five of its pills. Nonetheless, I give in, chasing them down with the devil’s juice. Fire ignites within my chest as the al...

Ring. Ring.

Right on time. The same time every day. The phone, an old red antique would ring, and today was no exception.

I crossed to the other side of the room. The feeling of dread strong. I often wondered what would happen if I didn’t answer, after all, all that ever greeted me was silence. The only sound I could hear would be my own breathing.

So why not? Why not leave the call unanswer...

The tiny green antique telephone buzzed on the wooden table. Right on time. Anticipation ran through my body making the little hairs on my neck stand on end. I pick up the phone and wait for them to speak first, like always.

“We sometimes forget how easy it is to say hello to a stranger, don’t you think?” Jayce expressed on the other side of the phone.

I stood there puzzled. I was just holding t...