Writing Prompt 12- The Red Phone

Red is the colour of many meanings. Passion, love, hate. It adorns anything you could think of, bringing life and vibrance to everything it touches. A red door, a glimpse into a person’s life. A red sports car, a poison red apple. Red lipstick, umbrella, cherry, Wellies, roses, ladybirds, crayon, poppies, blood... all things of true memories and emotion. Of course, many of these things may be different colours, but none quite so expressive as red.

Red home, red life, red hair, cheeks, walls; living and breathing crimson, scarlet, burgundy, merlot, fire-engine, strawberry, cherry red. Red painting over everything else, choking out the lesser emotions.

Red voice, red feelings and red anger. Red nails grab a red phone, red lips open and speak grey words.

“Dr. Ramsey’s office.” Her hand fingers the cord, twirling around and around while she waits.

“May I speak to the doctor?”

“One moment.” She taps her foot impatiently, listening to the faint white noise on the line. There are muffled voices, then she can hear a soft breath.

“Hello, Dr. Ramsey.”

“Hello, Doctor. This is Clara calling.”

“Hello Clara. How are things at home?” She lifts herself onto the kitchen counter and swings her feet back and forth, feeling like a child.

“Thing are all right, I guess. I think my illness is returning, though,” she says.

“That’s too bad,” he says. “What are the symptoms this time?” The doctors voice is cool, with a hint of sympathy. She can almost hear his brain working, waiting to receive the formula so he may give a diagnosis.

“Well, the usual ones, you know? I’ve been feeling restless lately, sweaty, cold, a little faint.” She hops off of the counter and paces in the kitchen, the phone cord winding around her one way. She stops.

“Is there anything new?” the doctor asks. She nods, though he can’t see her. The phone in her hand is heavy.

“Well, yes or I wouldn’t be calling,” she says with a hollow laugh. “I’ve been feeling very repressed lately. Depressed, even.”

“I think I know exactly what’s wrong with you,” he says. Her face lights up.

“Really? That’s wonderful.”

“Have you been reading lately?” he asks.

“No, what does that have to do with anything? I haven’t been feeling well. I sit on the couch mostly.”

“Have you seen anyone lately? Talked to anyone? Watched TV, perhaps?”

“Of course, who doesn’t?” she says, and he pauses.

“Yes, I know exactly what it is,” he says, and for the first time, his voice sounds solemn. She grips the phone tighter, eyes wide. She hangs onto his every word, breathless.

“What is it, doctor?”

“You suffering from something severe ma’am, and it will need to be taken care of immediately. You’re not thinking for yourself.” There is a sharp intake of breath.“It could be fatal.”