The Morning After

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In the morning, I felt a lot better. I can breath again, and that is one of the greatest feelings ever. I rolled out of bed and folded it lazily. Pontius was still fast asleep, lying on his back and his face covered by his arm. I dragged my butt the kitchen and scanned the whole place. I found coffee and a chocolate bar, I’m too lazy to make cook so I settled on those. Just as I finished making coffee, an unfamiliar ringtone rang. I found out that it was Pontius’s, but he was still asleep. I glanced at the caller ID, turns out it was Mark. I had this ridiculous idea; I picked it up. “Hello?”

            “Pontius? What happened to your voice?”

            “This isn’t Pontius.” I bit my lip and shook my leg, holding my laughter,

            “Pontius, this isn’t a joke!”

            “But I’m not Pontius.”           

            “Whoever you are, it’s not funny! What have you done to Pontius?”

            “Who is Pontius?”

            “I’ll call the police, I’m serious! I’m warning you!”           

            “You seriously will?”

            “Listen, I’ll give you a choice.”

            “Name it.”

            “You’re on speaker with my band. Either say what you want to say right now, delete this number, and we can forget about this. Or I’ll track your number and report it.”

            “Whoa, you have a band? Who are you?” I tried to sound shocked,

            “Wait, you don’t know me?”

            “Are you my uncle?”

            “Look, what do you want?”

            “Are you serious? You don’t know who I am? Doesn’t this angelic voice of mine familiar to you?”

            “Who are you? How did you end up with this number?”

            “No, how did YOU get MY number?”

            “So you’re saying that I called the wrong number?”

            “Do I sound like this Pontius guy you’re looking for?” I sassed, credits to Mark Foster the sass master.

            “How can it be wrong? I had this number for years!”

            “Are you sure about it?”

            “I think we should call the police.” Another voice said, I think its Cubbie’s.

            “I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”

            “Would you cut the crap and tell us who you are?” Mark sounded really annoyed, shit just got real.

            “Guess! I’m a friend of yours, you idiots!” And there was silence, but I hear them whispering and I assume that they are discussing.

            “Oh my God! You got us! Wow, you’re good!” I heard Sean and Isom burst out in laughter,

            “Oh God, they’re having those telepathic conversations again.” Mark mumbled to himself, I assume.

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