it’s been two years. the media crews are long gone. the tweets and hashtags buried under new atrocities and awkward selfies. the debris has been removed and the damages repaired. the building stands upright once more, waiting for the new owners to start painting it with their vision. it’s going to be a bookshop. it’s going to be a place for conversation, for art. it’s going to be a place where all are welcome to sit among the stacks of books and escape. it’s going to be a place where all are welcome and none are judged. a place to listen and share around the stage talking about life. but as construction gets underway and the shop opens, people start noticing that wherever you go, you hear the faint echo of a hundred cellphones ringing. they never stop ringing.
my first attempt at the “american gothic” style of writing. it was inspired by a line a read about the Orlando tragedy where first responders reported being overwhelmed by the sound of so many cellphones continuously ringing.