Dirty tile and cold walls surrounded her as she dialed the number, black phone pressed to her ear. She ignored the dirt and ash, just like she ignored the foul stench that hovered in every room like a vulture.
The phone clicked and her heart leapt.
“Who is this?”
“John,” she whispered. “I–”
“I told you not to call.”
“It’s too late for that.”
The line went dead. She stood there, cradling the phone, unable to step away.
Outside the tiny prison window, the world spread out, so close but so far beyond her reach.
Word Count: 97
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and J Hardy Carroll for the photo prompt!