The night has grown dark and he is left alone outside of a convenience store

Music runs through his head..first the violins, then the violas, cellos boom

The parking lot is empty and the convenience store is dark

The street lights dimly illuminate the road to nowhere, but one shines on a telephone booth

He walks over to it cautiously

And his steps mark the beat of his internal song

The fluorescent light inside the booth flickers as if beckoning

The doors are closed and his shadow is cast awkwardly behind him

He takes a step forward and places his dry hands on the entrance

The doors creek and fold open

This phone booth provides no comfort from the cold night

It is a metal and glass prison rooted in the ground without a care

Colors are washed away

Pages from the phone book lie on the ground, torn and useless

The boy stood, staring at the phone

Nothing happened

He picked it up and placed it to his ear to listen for the one calling out to him

It was cold and stung his red ears

All was quiet outside, but the song inside of his head was raging on

The orchestra crescendoed and built beautiful harmonies

Powerful drums created tension and apprehension

He pressed against one of the walls and slunk down into a ball

What was he waiting for… why was he there?

The night was getting colder, but the boy was numb to the effects

He could taste his warm tears as the hours passed

There he sat, waiting for the call

Waiting for the call that would change his life

Waiting for that one ring, that one voice, those very few words that would change his life

But that call, that ring, that voice, those words…

Never came