❝In which a celebrity dials a random number in hope of finding one last thing to make him smile before he commits suicide at the end of the month.❞
"I'm going to commit suicide in one months time."
"I think you have the wrong number."
"It can't be t...
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She had been there for hours.
All noises from outside the metal prison she was contained in had long since ceased. The silence was eerie, causing shivers of fear to ripple down her aching spinal chord in painfully slow waves. She had been hunched over in this damned position for far too long. She had begun to curse her sharp joints hours ago. Her knees were really beginning to hurt the part of her chest that she was hugging them to.
Having no choice but to rest her head on her knees, due to the sheer compact size of the metal cuboid, she was encased in darkness. Although, in all fairness, something told her that if she were able to raise her head that no more light would be shed onto the situation.
Cleo wondered if they had considered the little slits in the metal door when they had shoved her in there.
Just enough gaps so that the oxygen could filter through.
Just enough so that she could breathe.
It was almost ironic how a receptacle designed to store one of her favorite things was now her worst nightmare.
