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 unanswered. Whoever was playing this game with me would surely grow tired of waiting.

But of course I was too much of a coward to do it. The knowledge that something terrible could and would happen.

I had already been stuck in this cycle for weeks now, today wouldn’t be any different.

I wish I knew who was calling me, the silence that always greeted me was deafening.

The number was one I did not know and with no voice or sound on the other end I had no clue to who or the why of whoever was on the other end.

The only thing I did know, was the time 11pm. Every day exactly on time my phone would ring and every day I would answer.

I stopped in front of the phone, which sat on a small coffee table, bringing its height to my hip.

I placed my hand on the phone, preparing to lift the reviver from its cradle.

When it stopped.

I gasped. The ringing had ceased. The feeling of dread morphed into fear.

What had happened?!

I glanced around the room, which was vacant apart from myself, as was the norm.

I could feel panic setting in, feel the film of sweat above my top lip.

I always answered!

But now the phone was silent.

Why?

What did it mean?

Before my thoughts could spiral even further, the phone began ringing again.

I wasted no time in answering it this time around. I lifted the receiver and placed it against my ear.

“Hello?” I whispered.

I fully expected there to be silence, the same as every day.

But I guess I should have realised today wouldn’t be an ordinary day. Oh how I was I could have seen my mistake coming.

No, today was definitely not an ordinary day. Because today there was a voice speaking to me on the other end of the line.

It simply said. “You did not answer my call. You have failed.”

If more was said I couldn’t tell.

In fact I could tell anything, other than the pain spreading throughout my body, and the difficulty to breath.

A single gunshot.

I had failed.