A short story

The chirping of the phone pierced his dreams and a sleep-clumsy hand moved towards the receiver. Finally he had the phone in his hands, the chirping stopped and he lay the receiver across his head.

"Hello?"

"Hi, son."

"Uh, hi, Dad."

One sleep-encrusted eyelid opened just a crack and he looked at the clock.

"Dad, it's 3am."

"I just wanted to tell you I love you."

"I love you too, Dad."

The phone was silent and he knew his Dad was gone.

Then both eyes opened and he stared at the clock. It wasn't 3am. It was 3:12am. It was 3:12am on the morning of Saturday, May 15th.

Six years ago his mother had woken up to find his father sitting on the edge of their bed. She said he'd looked at her and with tears streaming down his cheeks he'd told her something was terribly wrong, and then he'd collapsed onto the floor.

The paramedics had not been able to revive him and he was pronounced dead at the scene. Cause of death was a massive heart attack. The time of death was 3:12am, Saturday, May 15th.

As he stared at the clock the phone began chirping again. He answered it reluctantly, hesitatingly.

"Hello?"

"Hi, son."

He laughed.

"Hi, Mum. He called you, too. Didn't he?"

They talked for a while before hanging up, and then he just lay there, staring at the ceiling. He lay there for a long time before sleep finally reclaimed him. The phone never rang again.