Tom was late with his writing prompt. Tom’s never late with his writing prompt. I gave him a ring.
josh
I was torn. At my core — my red-blooded, primal core — I was fuming. Tom knows we have deadlines. He knows to not fuck with those deadlines. I knew something was wrong.
Fear rushed through my body, I shook the fury from my mind. Tom was usually punctual to the point of obnoxious aggression. Something has happened.
The phone dialled. I was met with nothing but hypnotic tones. My stomach tightened with every passing pulse of the speaker and I gripped the counter, a wave of nausea crashing into me.
Finally the call connected.
“TOM!?” I cried out in anxious panic, desperate to know he was safe.
Again, nothing. A pure radio silence. I knew it — he was gone. I can’t believe I was so hard on him for this deadline. Our last words together were a vile exchange of pressure and resentment.
My head fell into my hands, a wave of emotion went to escape my eyes when I heard a cough on the other end of the line.
“WHAT HAVE YOU DONE WITH HIM!?” I demanded of the faceless monster, whose life was now mine to end.
“Oh hi mate!”
Tom Gamon — cool and collected.
That bastard.