The phone is ringing.
A perfect day.
Sunlight streaming through the bay windows, tinted blue from the cloudless sky above.
The phone is ringing.
A discordance amongst harmony, a disturbance in the surroundings.
Yet it sooths the mood of the room. Adds reality to an otherwise still life. An element of the uncertain.
The phone is ringing.
The uncertain fills the room.
The perfection wavers, realising itself and its own vunerability in the face of uncertainty. A cloud drifts suspiciously across the spotless blue canvas.
The phone is ringing.
The clock ticking.
A metronome to the beat of time. A rhythm for the uncertain. A spot of rain on the glass.
The phone is ringing.
By Ben Jones
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