Ring

Black… Soft velvety black… The daylight fades and the darkness envelopes and smothers me with a cashmere caress. My arms still pulsate with purifying pain but my legs ooze into puddles of foamy sluggishness. The image of my beautiful, creamy bride, her face still tarnished by that black smudge, wobbles and reddens as if seen through burgundy jelly. Gray gravity tugs at me and I surrender to the incessant groping. On the warm floor, between the specks of brown renewal, I curl up into a foetal position, close my exhausted eyes and await sweet, silver salvation.

Rin…

The operator picks up the telephone before it can complete a fourth chime: “Psychic Hotline you are speaking to Lynda. Why are you hurting yourself and your bride?”

The voice on the other end is soothing and reassuring: “Miss Arthrope, my name is Allen Foster and I work for TelePath Incorporated. We have received word of your um… talent. To make sure, we have created a test, which you just passed. How would you like to work for us?”