Misdial

Story By StormDancer

Prologue

It starts as a vibration. In a pocket, on a table, or just in the air, the kind a bat could hear. Then it turns into noise. A brrrring, a song, a series of notes that everyone knows the significance of. It becomes a rummaging, a leap, a slow meander, to pick up the phone, maybe a frantic race or a lazy grab. It gets flipped open, or perhaps a key is pressed, to receive the call. The phone is brought up to an ear; a head tilts slightly to the side.

And then –then there's a second. Less than that, really. A breath. A moment. A tiny, infinitesimal amount of time before either person speaks. And in the moment, that breath, that silence, anyone could be calling. It could be tragedy. It could be windfall. It could be wonderful or mundane, annoying or welcome beyond words. It is within that moment, that breath, that space that there is possibility.

After all, it could be destiny.