Hour 2

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I sat in my bedroom for a while, looking over photos, reminiscing on old memories, even though in 47 hours, it would all be gone, and I would be a mere pile of dust floating out in space.

Its about 10:12 when Dan rings, and, of course, I immediately answer. He's sniffling, he's been crying. I would too, if I possesed the ability to give a shit.

"P-Phil, I-" he pauses, and I wait patiently, quietly for him to start speaking again.

"I need you to come here. Now. We're dying, and my family doesn't give a shit about me, and I'm not entirely sure yours gives a shit about you either, so, please, Phil. I need you."

"I'll be there soon, but I was going to come either way, whether you called or not."

•48 hours•//phanWhere stories live. Discover now