Sunday Scribblings, Message

The prompt over at Sunday Scribblings is "Message."


The Message
“You’ll be fine.”
She’d left the statement on his answering machine, time-stamped at 11:42 p.m.
It was an old machine, tape instead of digital and it was serviceable so he never sought to upgrade. She’d tease him about it, calling him old school while he reviewed calls by winding the tape back to write down a number or times for dinner reservations.
Truthfully, the whir of the tape was comforting. The squeal of voices in reverse. Click. Play.
This was way different.
“You’ll be fine.”
Her voice was detached somehow, hollow.
Whirl. Click. Play.
The tan plastic of the machine was covered in tears, thick ropes of snotty saliva. He ran the risk of short-circuiting the ancient box, but he couldn’t help himself. Once and again, he’d run a crusting sleeve across his lips and nose. But once she spoke, a fresh stream hammered the box.
“You’ll be fine.”
She was businesslike, blunt. Nothing like she was in real life, fun of spunk, delicious playfulness.
Whir. Click. Play.
Her message, time stamped at 11:42 p.m.
“You’ll be fine.”
A full two hours after her death.