Voicemails for Verona

- One -

Your favourite time of day is dawn.

Tiny glittering stars are scattered across the sky as the inky dark night fades into a rich indigo. Peeking behind the horizon is a bright halo of gold, illuminating the sleepy town with promises of something new and beautiful. And sandwiched between the battle of morning and night is a vibrant splash of periwinkle and peach. It's extraordinary.

And it's the sight you relish in as you stop your morning hike to take a breather. Ten months ago, walking up a flight of stairs would have you dry heaving. But the scenic journey from the small motel to the peaceful outback gives a satisfying burn to your legs and a comfortable beat to your heart.

Backpacking around Australia had always been your dream and you finally got the time off work to do it. Sure, you had grown up in the country but travelling with nothing but a wallet and a backpack of belongings made you realise how much of your backyard you still hadn't seen.

You close your eyes, take a deep breath of the fresh morning air and stretch your arms, embracing the crisp autumn breeze. When you open your eyes and take one last look at the sky, you decide to head back. There's a bowl of honey-banana oats waiting to be made for breakfast.

As you turn and start walking back up the track, you almost lose your footing. Stumbling, you manage to catch yourself against the closest eucalyptus tree. The bark scrapes against your hands and there's a prickle of blood on your hands that stings. Your eyes narrow in the direction where you had lost your step, but your face transforms into confusion as you see what had made you fall. Sitting on the dusty ground is a phone.

Out of curiosity, you pick it up, trying not to get dirt into the fresh wounds. You dust the screen against the leg of your pants and notice a deep crack running from the top right hand corner to the bottom right. Thinner cracks branch from it, making a large vein of broken glass. You try switching it on—maybe someone back at the motel lost it after their morning walk. The screen remains black though and after a couple more attempts you realise there's no luck. The phone doesn't have a case on it, no stickers or charms or anything to set it apart. Your own phone sits heavily in your pocket and you know you'd be devastated if anything ever happened to it so you put the lost one in with it so you can find its home.

The walk back to the motel is half an hour but it is mostly downhill. The path is rocky and you have to be mindful of your step, but it's an enjoyable road back. When you arrive back in your room, you immediately go to the bathroom to wash and bandage your hand. You don't have any proper bandages but a strip of fabric from an old shirt does the job.

When you're done, you rummage through your backpack and retrieve a charger. Luckily, the lost phone uses the same one your current one does so you plug it in. While it charges you make yourself that breakfast you had been craving while walking. Before you checked in last night you had made a quick stop at a supermarket. The bananas you picked are looking a little green so you go against putting one in your oats. Once they're speckled and sweet, they'll be the perfect treat. Instead you just opt for the little bear-shaped bottle of honey and drizzle it generously on your breakfast.

Once you're full, you check back on the phone. It's charged enough that it comes back to life. The first thing you notice is a photograph of a dog. It's a little brown dachshund. His tongue is sticking out and his mouth is open in a way that makes him look like he's smiling.

He looks like a good boy.

The second thing you notice is that there's no password. You find it strange. You are expecting to be blocked with a password, a finger print scan, facial recognition. But there is nothing. One swipe up will grant you full access.

All of a sudden it feels wrong keeping the phone. You have good intentions, of course. You were going to find the last called number and try giving them a ring. But it suddenly seems like a violation of privacy. Maybe you should just hand it in to reception.

You lock the screen and stand, getting ready to drop it off. But before you get the chance to, the screen lights back up with an abundance of late notifications. It vibrates violently as they roll down the one by one.

Call 101 you have one (1) new voice message.

Jesus Christ there are a lot of new voice messages. Your eyes can't keep up with the little banners. The sheer volume alarms you. Either the phone had been lost for a long time or someone was desperately trying to call the owner. Curiosity stirs in your stomach and your fingers slowly drift back towards the device.

If you listen to one voicemail, maybe it will give you a clue as to who owns the phone. You only need to listen to one. Just to hear a name. Then you can work from there. What's the harm in that?

You sit back down with the phone in your hands, call voicemail, and listen.