Writing Prompt

For over a century now the red door has been symbolized as a safe house or safe haven. A place where people could run to for shelter and refuge. The corrupted world leaders so hypnotized by greed, that they continue to stay blind to this symbol. While rural areas contain more landscape for these refuges, the urban areas lack the terrain. So they had to get creative. Still using the bright red color as a sign, but now using old telephone booths as a beacon of light. You must dial three…six…nine, then let it ring three times. When you hear “couch delivery service” you follow by saying “hi, yes I would like to place a delivery for a couch this evening.” The operators will then give you a time and place. The free solution to gain your liberation.

Is it? Is it civilization? Finally? I have been wandering in this desert for what seems like forever. And there it is. A phone booth! And lights beyond. A city? Oh joy. I might finally be done with this nightmare. Finally, I can have water. And maybe a little food. How long has it been? Five days? Six? A month? I just don’t know. I have seen mirages and had hallucinations. I do not even know whether the phone booth is real. But it has not disappeared yet. Just a couple more steps.

The walls seem solid enough. The phone seems real. But alas. No dial tone. And I don’t have a quarter anyway.

I lean back against the wall. Drat! No wall. I wake up from a falling dream. I’m still where I was last time I thought I moved. Still lying on the sand. Still in this miserable desert. Alone.

Red walls closing in Broken phone on the wall Door is blocked But I’m not shocked I can’t get out anyway

The sky is dark No one around I can barely see the ground Snow falls heavy But makes no sound

Thick flakes creep up The windows The skys cup I cant see outside I am getting cold I might have to give up

I sit here on the floor in this telephone booth accepting fate Closing my eyes As I say goodbye

In that old telephone booth Lays my body Years past Still alone Found by nobody

Never maried Never happy Lets not get sappy I said goodbye I accepted fate

But on this date remeber me the girl who died In a telephone booth Just wanting to make a call

I needed to make a call and the phone wasn’t working on the airplane. “Excuse me do you know when the phones will start working again?” I asked the flight attendant, “No sir. We have been having problems for a while now. A soon as it comes back I’ll make sure to let you know.”

I just nodded at here and knew that that wasn’t going to happen. I went back to my laptop and began working on the document I had started earlier. I am a glad I am in the window seat so I could see the city of San Francisco and it’s beautiful light during the night, and then I saw it, the phone booth amongst the clouds. It made me think of Doctor Who. Maybe I could transport to my location instead of stuck on this airplane with no way to communicate to my business, which I desperately needed to get a hold of to make the stock trade.

I looked at the flight attendant and smiled and called her over, “Do you think we could stop by the phone booth so I can make a call?”, she laughed at me as if I had told the funniest joke, and then I pointed out the window. Her jaw dropped and she ran up to the cock pit and then that’s when it happened. The plane came to a complete stop and the side door over the window opened up.

I looked around and everything and everyone seemed to stop. I walked over to the door and walked out on the wing gingerly so as not to fall over 10,000 feet to the world below. When I got to the wing tip I reached down and opened the door to the phone booth and climbed in to make my call.

“You won’t believe where I am.” I told my executive assistant Jeffrey. When I told him where I was he just laughed. I took a picture with my phone and told him I would send it to him when I had a signal again. I informed him of what I needed to have done and then climbed back onto the wing and into the airplane. When I sat back down in my seat everything went back to normal.

When I finally landed in Hawaii and had a signal I opened my phone up and was going to send my photo and realized that the photo was gone. I knew it happened so I called Jeffrey to make sure he had completed the task I had asked him to do.

“What do you mean you called me.” He said to me. Apparently it was all a dream.

Not knowing where to start … With an Eerie heart .. One foot stepped in front of the other.

Where your feet wonder .. depends on the vibrations of the earth .

You search ..

For something nobody’s ever seen before .

Is it Impossible …

You feel duplicated … In a world full of opportunities … Helping us embrace our true selfs …

How is that possible…

You search….

not knowing…

the possibility of something new .. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Brings you warmth.

I’m uncertain how the red phone booths of England became a symbol of that entire country, but it absolutely has. A quick scan of any jet setters Instagram account will confirm. I think anytime most people see one of these iconic, but obsolete booths, their noggin is immediately filled with images of beefeaters, the royal family and odd looking taxis. I may be the exception. When I see one of these I’m immediately transported back to Detroit, Maine in the early 1990s. I’m in the living room with my family and two dogs. The room is dimly lit and Alex, our faithful golden retriever is curled up beside me. Mom and dad are sitting on the couch. Our wood paneled, floor model Sony tv is transporting us across the pond to the strange but entertaining world of Dr. Who. Full disclosure…I think Dad was the only one who enjoyed the show. The rest of us were just along for the ride. Little did I know, this would probably be the best time of my life. Maybe all of ours. Within a decade my mother would be deceased after a gut wrenching battle with Multiple Sclerosis and the family would be left in shambles. No more evenings around the boob tube. No more golden retrievers. No more family. I have fond memories whenever I see one of these icons of the U.K.. Not because of the shows plot, but because if reminds me of a time when the plot of my life was different. A happier and wholesome time. In a way Dr. Who became a reality. The characters of the show would get into the booth and be transported to a different dimensions. My trips through time and space don’t involve a world of adventure or quirky characters. I take a direct route back to a time when life was a little easier. Laughing was the normal. I was content with bowl of popcorn, a glass of kool aid and the company of a soon to be dispersed family. Maybe Dr. Who wasn’t a fantasy? After all, we use the same mode of transportation.

We’re lucky, because on the side of the building is a big window that’s open. We climb in and carefully walk around. There is no one there. In the far end corner of the building we see the familiar shape of a phone booth. Carefully we walk closer and indeed there is our red phone cell. It still looks in good shape. There also happens to be a truck in the building and some lifting equipment. That brings us up an idea and not much later we’ve loaded the phone booth on the truck. Annabel opens the front door and I drive the truck outside. She gets into the car and we drive in the direction of the highway. That was a lot easier than expected. Some days it’s nice to get a lucky break. Now we have to see a way to get the phone booth back to England, but that’s tomorrow’s challenge.

Frost stood at the edge of the pack’s territory, the cold wind biting at his fur as he stared into the distance. The Snowfall had brought with it a strange silence, a stillness that felt wrong. Every time he tried to shake the feeling, it crept back, deeper and more suffocating.

Lina was sick. Frost knew it, even though she refused to admit it. He could see it in the way her eyes were dulling, in the way her body was wasting away, and the anger that pulsed beneath her skin like a storm. But it wasn’t just hunger that drained her, no—it was something worse.

The Black Blood Disease.

The rumors had reached them—other packs whispering about it, wolves who had gone mad, their blood black and dripping from their mouths. But Frost hadn’t believed it until he saw it with his own eyes. He had seen it in Lina, though he couldn’t bring himself to say it out loud. She wasn’t the same anymore. The wolf he had once known, the one he had mentored, was slipping away with each passing day.

The pack was struggling. Prey was scarce, but that wasn’t the worst of it. There was a gnawing fear in the air, a fear that spread faster than the disease itself. No one knew what to do. They had already lost too much.

Frost turned to face the den, his tail flicking uneasily. He needed to talk to Squirrel, needed to make her understand. But how could he explain it? How could he make her see that Lina was no longer the same wolf? That what she was becoming was a danger to them all?

He couldn’t. Not yet.

Squirrel had been hunting tirelessly to keep the pack fed, her determination unwavering, but Frost could see the toll it was taking on her. She was starting to look worn out, just like the rest of them. The disease had already started to affect the others, and Frost could sense that something darker was coming. He headed back to camp, feeling a deep foreboding in his heart…

Frost had been watching from a distance, his eyes narrowing as the tension between the two young wolves grew. Squirrel and Lina had always been close, almost like sisters. But lately, something had changed in Lina. Her once bright eyes had dulled, and the aggression that simmered beneath the surface was becoming harder to ignore. Frost had warned Squirrel to stay away, but he knew the apprentice wouldn’t listen. She never did.

He watched them now, standing just at the edge of their hunting grounds, the air thick with unease.

“Lina?” Squirrel’s voice wavered, as she stepped toward the older wolf. “Are you feeling alright? You’ve been acting strange… Please, let me help.”

Lina’s head snapped toward Squirrel, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling emptiness. Her once soft brown fur looked ragged, and her breathing was shallow. A thin stream of black blood dripped from her mouth, staining the snow beneath her.

“Stay away from me!” Lina snarled, her voice raw and trembling. The aggression was clear now, and Frost’s heart sank. It was happening.

Squirrel took a cautious step back, her ears flattened. “Lina, you’re scaring me. Please, let me help…”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Lina’s voice was almost a hiss, low and dangerous. “I don’t need help. I need you to stay out of my way.”

Before Squirrel could react, Lina lunged, her jaws snapping shut just inches from Squirrel’s face. Squirrel yelped and leapt backward, but Lina was faster. The disease had twisted her, making her stronger, more volatile than ever before.

Frost’s instincts screamed at him to intervene, but something held him back. He knew the truth—Lina was no longer the wolf he had mentored. She was slipping away, and nothing could stop it now.

Squirrel stumbled backward, her eyes wide with fear. She scrambled to get to her paws, but Lina was relentless, charging again. The once gentle wolf was gone, replaced by a feral creature driven by nothing but the rage coursing through her veins.

“Lina!” Squirrel cried, her voice breaking. She managed to duck just in time as Lina’s teeth missed her by a hair. “Please, stop! It’s not you, it’s—”

But Lina didn’t stop. She kept coming, her movements erratic and full of malice. She was faster than Squirrel, stronger, her limbs moving unnaturally as though the disease had taken full control of her body.

Frost felt his heart race as he watched the scene unfold. He couldn’t let it happen, but a part of him feared it was already too late.

With a final, desperate move, Squirrel tried to dodge, but Lina was too quick. She sank her teeth into Squirrel’s shoulder, and the young wolf yelped in pain. Blood—fresh and red—stained the snow around them.

“No!” Frost barked, finally lunging forward, his paws sliding across the ice. His claws scraped against the frozen earth as he barreled into Lina, knocking her off balance.

Lina let out a guttural growl, trying to shake him off, but Frost held her down with a strength he didn’t even know he had. His heart pounded in his chest as he forced himself to look into her eyes—black pits of nothing.

“Lina… I’m sorry,” Frost whispered, his voice thick with sorrow. The wolf before him wasn’t the Lina he had known. She was lost, consumed by the disease.

Squirrel scrambled to her feet, shaking, her breath coming in ragged gasps. Her shoulder was torn, and the blood was staining the snow around her. But she was still alive.

Frost glanced at her once before looking back at Lina, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. There was no saving her now. Lina was beyond saving.

“You need to run, Squirrel,” Frost growled softly. “Get as far away as you can. I’ll… take care of her.”

Squirrel’s eyes met his, wide and terrified, but she didn’t hesitate. She turned and fled, her paws carrying her far from the chaos.

Frost could only watch as she disappeared into the trees. His heart ached, but he knew this wasn’t over. The Black Blood Disease was spreading. There was no stopping it now.

It was a cool spring evening as I walked up a winding trail near an old, picturesque village in England. My friend and I, worn out from a long hike, were searching for a place to rest. Just as we were about to reach the peak, a sign appeared on the path, its worn letters warning: “Turn back now, or continue if you dare.” My friend—a daredevil by nature—smirked and marched ahead, ignoring my quiet urging to head back to our hotel. The sun was slipping below the horizon, and shadows thickened around us.

As we ventured deeper into the forested path, our flashlights pierced the dark. Somewhere ahead, we heard voices—soft hushing sounds and quiet, mournful weeping. Moments later, a strange group passed us: three women and a man. They glanced back, their faces twisted into expressions that were somehow both sorrowful and smiling. One of them—a tall man with tear-streaked green eyes and messy blonde hair—paused and whispered, “Be cautious of the phone booth at the peak… It tells you your future.”

My friend and I exchanged nervous smiles, her laughter echoing against the silent trees. When we finally reached the summit, a red phone booth stood on the edge of the peak, its yellow light glowing faintly from within. The view was hauntingly beautiful, and I couldn’t resist snapping a few pictures. At some point, one of us suggested stepping inside, though I couldn’t remember whose idea it was. But as I entered the cramped space, an eerie silence swallowed me; even my friend’s voice faded outside the booth. The air was thick, carrying the stale scent of sweat. Before me, on the wall, instructions were scrawled in a shaky hand: 1. Pick up the phone. 2. You may dial anyone, or wait for the “Voice.” 3. If you wait for the Voice, DO NOT respond. 4. Let it tell your future. 5. HANG UP immediately after the voice ends.

I hesitated, then picked up the phone and waited. Minutes later, a voice—strangely like my own but colder, distant—broke the silence. “Don’t ask questions. Just listen.” It spoke of a strained future with my friend, urging that we remain close, even if this trip would be our last. And then it said something about my dream job in the States… The voice continued, but the rest blurred as it abruptly cut off. I stood there, shaken, feeling a strange mix of joy and sadness as my friend’s face appeared in the dim glow, her bright eyes confused.

She insisted on entering the booth herself, despite my warning. I watched through the tiny window as she read the instructions, her expression shifting from curiosity to shock. When she emerged, her face was pale, her eyes wet with unshed tears. “It said this will be our last trip together,” she murmured, her voice breaking. “But it’s lying… it has to be lying.”

We hugged tightly, both of us shaken. As we descended, we passed an elderly couple walking hand-in-hand up the path. They stopped, smiling kindly, and asked if we’d used the phone booth. We nodded, and they chuckled. “Don’t feel bound by what it told you,” the man said. “We’ve ignored half our predictions, and here we are—still happy, still together.”

With those words echoing in our minds, we walked back to the village, feeling the weight of a mystery we couldn’t fully understand, yet sensing the power to shape our future lay within us—not a haunted phone booth perched on a lonely mountain peak.

Annabel and I immediately drive to St. Pancras station and take the first train to France. Int he train we get to know each other a bit better. Annabel tells that she’s been working with the global phone company now for five years. “You’ll have a great time with this job”, she tells me. The train goes really fast and within a few hours we’re in Paris. I love this adventure, taking me all over Europe already in the first days. The tracking device shows us that the phone booth is in one of the suburbs, so we take a cab there. When we get out of the car we see a lot of industrial buildings. The device leads us to a big old storage building. The door on the front is locked and so we look for a different way to get in.