So, I've found myself in the realm of song-fics once again....

Except when I write song fics, I leave out lyrics, and base my piece(s) off of the lyrics' meaning and the aura of the song. So, here's one based on Payphone by Maroon 5.

Click here for the link: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=6RECG55eLoI

In my writing class we write at the beginning of class everyday for ten minutes, so I used my time for about a week to write a short-short-short-story.

903 word count

Payphone by Maroon 5

‘Where is that cursed phone?!’

‘Where,’ I wondered to myself.

I took a turn by 4^th Avenue, sprinting down the street that was nothing but cement ruins. The entire area had been evacuated three hours ago. Three, long, excruciating hours…

The cuffs of my once neatly-creased black slacks were now wrinkled and covered in all the dirt, debris, and dust that had fallen onto the concrete jungle like snow on Christmas Eve.  My plain, beat-up Chucks looked in  their worst shape yet. My white button-up dress shirt had now wrinkled and dirtied as well, some of the buttons loose and undone, the long sleeves rolled up to my elbows.

In my hands I clutched my keys, the metal teeth digging into my rough palms.

‘Urgh, I can’t find it!!!’

All I needed right now was to contact him, to make sure he’s safe. Hopefully he’s down by Pennsylvania by now…

I jumped over a knocked down wire bench and took another right. According to the map I only had one more black to go.

But no, because fate apparently hates me today… Kill me now.

Another alien and our own defense came tumbling across the street, crushing that one oh-so-holy phone booth that I had been running for almost half an hour to get a hold of. I didn’t want to go underground, but probably the last INTACTS phone was in the subway stations. I felt my feet skid to a stop as I turned around and hopped over the green railing and down the concrete stairs, not even giving a single glance towards the lit subway sign.

I tumbled across the floor, stopping behind a plaster pillar. A look left, a look right.

The coast was clear.

I quickly got up and ran into a florist shop, locking the door behind me and leaping over the counter, searching for that one thing I needed so much.

BUT IT WASN’T THERE.

THE FLORIST SHOP DIDN’T HAVE A STUPID-

The lights went out.

Everything black.

Then the emergency lights kicked in outside the shop, ;laying a blanket of shadows over the small store.

Then one of them came down the hall I ducked behind the counter and into its corner, peeking over the top cautiously.

The chrome figure stalked down the hall, gaskets wheezing with every step. In its hands was a gun. Not a small hand-sized cop pistol, but a full-on machine gun with all the fancy gadgets. With red laser eyes and built in heat detection vision. Who needed normal eyesight when you could see levels of heat radiation?

Shoot me now…

I ducked under the wall shelf, sitting as close against the water heater as I was allowed, making sure my body shape fitted the metal box. If I sat still enough and it didn’t look my way, I’d be safe.

I didn’t dare breathe.

The man-killing machine walked past the flower shop and down the hall, its eyes a fiery red, gleaming in the low-lit hallway.

I exhaled softly, wiping the sweat off my forehead and brushing my hair out of my eyes. I got up slowly, glancing out the window and up and down the hall.

The coast was clear.

I darted out the door, and down the hall, staying as close to the wall as possible and distributing my weight purely to the balls of my feet, footsteps silent.

I crept down the hall, past still-open stores and belongings left in their spots, abandoned by their owners, the lights slowly started to flicker, gradually becoming dimmer and dimmer. Down the hall something gleamed as the lights came back on.

A payphone.

I almost dropped to the ground in gratitude. I ran to the booth an quietly closed the door behind me, my hands going to grab at the change in my pockets. I took out four quarters, my fingers shaking while I fumbled with the coins and inserted them into the metal slot, my heart jolting as I heard that sacred ‘clink’.

With shaky fingers, I dialed in the number, repeating the digits in my head over and over again while I held the black plastic device up to my ear, the ten digits morphing together like a mantra. The tone stopped, and I heard someone pick up.

“Hello?” they asked.

I replied back, “It’s me, are you okay? Where are-“

But I never finished.

My skin felt ice cold for a split second, then next thing I knew I was laying down in fetal position on the concrete floor, my body unable to move.

I noticed flames around me and the empty sound of gears and gaskets compressing while I heard a dull and subtle ‘thud’ on the stone ground.

I sat up, well, tried.

I felt cool, thin liquid run down my face along with the sweat that dripped down my temple. I used my hand to wipe it away, then almost cried when I realized it was blood, coming from a gash on my forehead- just missing my temple.

I tried to get up, but I couldn’t more my left leg. On it was half a destroyed telephone booth.

A man-killing death machine headed towards me, eyes glowing as red as the blood trickling down my neck, staining my not-so-white button-up shirt. It stopped in front of me, and raised its hand, clutching a gun. I heard a distinct ‘click’ and then everything turned black.

So, that's about it.

And this, I must unshamefully say, is my most low-key and most unknown fic I have ever written. YAYYYY~~~

And happy birthday Jazlyn~