I’d slept deeply that night.
Seven missed calls,
I saw them that morning.
Only one voicemail though.
All tears, regrets and worries.
I called her.
Again,
And again,
And again.
No answer.
Just an emotionless machine.
Telling me I was too late.
I’d slept deeply that night.
Seven missed calls,
I saw them that morning.
Only one voicemail though.
All tears, regrets and worries.
I called her.
Again,
And again,
And again.
No answer.
Just an emotionless machine.
Telling me I was too late.
Writing(s) by Anna 
I love it! I’m not usually big on stories visually formatted like poetry, but I think yours works well this way.
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Oh how upsetting.
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This was heavy. To wake up to such a thing…
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Oh, jeez – survivor’s guilt indeed. The rest of your life thinking, “If I’d only heard the phone.”
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That is so irrevocably sad. It is the end. Tough.
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The repetition really gets to me. Tough one, ending it on the machine.
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My heart goes out for him. Heavy price for sleeping sound
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Hope she left some message for the caller.
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This one really grabbed me by the heart. Good writing!
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Anna, i liked the story.. can happen to all of us. But the ‘I was too late’ really clinches the story.
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Thank you! Yeah, so true…
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I like the way you personified the Answering machine towards the end. Right after the saddening refrain of ‘Again’. Beautiful!
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Thank you so much!
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