Ring ring

I’ve always been afraid of the sound of the telephone. It means bad news. And no-one, especially me, wants bad news. 

My phone, as it happens in many houses, is at the end of the corridor, like a totem, all alone on a table made just for it, as a king, the king who looks at his servants with disdain. The telephone controls us all, with its silence and its continuous black cloud of news, of bad news. From the moment you enter the house, you can feel its presence, the power it holds. If it was a person you could even see it scoffing at you, oh powerless mortal waiting forever for a call with the bad news you fear so much. 

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