“Who you calling?”
“I’m trying to reach home.”
“Why? We are fine. You know father gets all funny when we call him.”
“He just is worried is all. He thinks something is wrong all the time. Hello is this you, father?”
“Did you get him?”
“No there is something wrong with the connection. I’ll try later.”
“How many bars do you have?”
“Hmm. My cell says no service.”
“That’s why you can’t get through. You’ll have to wait until we get near a tower.”
“You would think there would be some service. We are right in the middle of a major city.”
“Yeah. Urm what city is this?”
“What do you mean ‘What city is this?’ It’s the one we flew into yesterday.”
“OMG, I forgot the name.”
“Right. I don’t believe you can tell me what day it is either.”
“It’s Tuesda— Wait, no it’s Monday. Yes, it’s Monday.”
“Why are you asking me these questions.”
“Because we are lost that’s why. We boarded a plane on Saturday and flew off into the sky. Do you remember landing anywhere?”
“Um. Now that you mention it, no.”
“See. I’m telling you we are in another dimension.”
“I’m not sure. Let’s ask someone.”
“Okay, there’s a person. Hey, could you tell us where we are?”
“They didn’t hear you. Ask another.”
“Young lady. Over here. Can you tell us where we are?”
“There is something wrong none of them hear you.”
“I’m starting to get scared. Oh, look, a police officer. Officer, can you help us?”
“Yes, what is it?”
“You can hear me then?”
“Of course I can. What is it you want?”
“Could you tell us where we are?”
“Certainly. You are in a photo in a prompt run by a couple of idiots.”
My effort was:
Hi, Dad. It’s me.
Just letting you know I’ve arrived, is all.
Yeah – it is an awful line, isn’t it? You sound, I dunno, different somehow.
Yes, Dad, I am. That’s where I’m calling from.
I told you before I left. Barcelona. Spain.
No, I’m not alone in a foreign country, there’s four of us staying in the same place. We’re all going to the gig now. There’ll be thousands of people there.
Yes, I know there are bad people on the streets, but if you could see—
Yes, Dad. I know not all terrorists look like terrorists—
Yes, and muggers too, but honestly—
No, Dad, I don’t need to speak to Mum. I was just calling to let you know I’m here and I’m okay.
Yes, I’ve had breakfast.
In the hotel, of course.
No, I didn’t have a Maccy D.
Dad, please. I’m over twenty-one, I don’t need—
Of course I still value your opinions, It’s just—
I’m trying to listen, but do you have to insist on treating me like a kid all the time?
Okay, put her on.
You sound a bit weird too, Mum.
Why are you calling me Linda?
Oh, I’m sorry, Mrs Featherstone. I must have misdialled.
Well, I hope your Linda has a nice time, wherever she’s going.
I will. Thanks.
You too. Bye.
* Question is: why do we look quizzically at our phones when that sort of thing happens?*
On to this week’s challenge: Using this photo as inspiration, write a short story, flash fiction, scene, poem; anything, really; even just a caption for the photograph. Either put it (or a link to it) in a comment or email it to me at firstname.lastname@example.org before 6pm next Sunday (if you aren’t sure what the time is where I live, this link will tell you). If you post it on your own blog or site, a link to this page would be appreciated, but please do also mention it in a comment here – pingbacks don’t often work.
Go on. You know you want to. Let your creativity and imagination soar. I shall display the entries, with links to your own blog or web site, next Monday.