The Day the Phone Stole Summer
The loud, carefree sounds of children playing outside fill the streets and alleys. They run, stomp their feet, and release their pent-up tiredness from months of studying into the earth. Chasing a ball, singing, and laughing without restraint, they bring life to the neighborhood. Life, in its purest and most joyous form, embraces everyone and everything.
Summer is finally here. It’s in the laughter of children. It’s in the air—warm and fresh. It’s in those mischievous rays of sunshine fighting their way through the flowy summer curtains into the room, touching a small part of your face and warming you up, gently telling you that summer has arrived. It’s right there in the juicy flesh of the watermelon as you bite into it. It's the smell of a fresh batch of darling strawberries. It’s in all the colors that cover the world: the red of cherries, the green of apples, the blue sky, and the white of billowy curtains. Summer, bustling and full of freedom, permeates every aspect of life. It's magical and mesmerizing.
It is, until it stops.
The phone rings, disturbing the quiet, scorching summer afternoon. The sound invades the house, forcing out the sun, the laughter, and the fresh air, separating the occupants from the rest of the world and imprisoning them in a void where nothing good can touch them.
My home.
My home becomes a tomb within seconds. It is an ominous ring—life-changing and morbid, signaling the end of summer. The splash of color that tiptoed into life under Summer’s gentle guidance is now eliminated and swallowed entirely by the hand of darkness.
The butterflies in my stomach, dancing with excitement for the days to come, turn into something monstrous and horrid. They burn within me, clawing, writhing, and twisting until I can't breathe anymore. The monster burns its way through me. Then slowly, very slowly, it cools down and metamorphoses into a heavy rock falling into the pit of my stomach, dragging me down with it to the bottomless pit of despair.
I am hollowed out—a stranger to laughter, no longer remembering what happiness feels like. The world is steeped in black. Coarse, dull black. A colorless color; a lack of light. Right at the start of summer, the world tilts beneath me and throws me back into winter. The phone tells me in its ominous delight that my father is no more.
