I sat quietly in my chair, staring at the phone. It rang again, but I didn't answer: I let the disharmonious jangle itch my eardrums instead. I took another drag from my cigarette, scratched behind my ear, and watched the phone. Each time it rang, it seemed to shiver in anticipation, like it eagerly awaited the warmth of an answering hand. I would give it no such pleasure.

I looked away; the sun was falling lower in the sky, and I wanted to watch its descent behind the cityscape. That was about as spectacular a sunset as I could hope for: the passage from sunlight to shade.

I took another drag from my cigarette, ignoring the whining telephone. I didn't want to talk to anyone now; I just didn't want to deal with people. The world would be so much nicer if there were no people.

I caught myself a moment later wondering who would call me. The phone had been ringing some time now: it was dark outside, and the relentless clamor of the city was deafening. The phone was still ringing. Whoever was calling was awfully persistent. Irritated, I lit another cigarette and answered the damn phone.

"Hello? Who is it?" The rasping hiss of my voice surprised me. It sounded foreign; unnatural. The sound echoed in my head -- had I heard it before? My thoughts were cut through by the harsh crackle of long distance lines; a muted voice responded.

"This is David. Where have you been, Dawn?"

I paused, trying to recollect, then answered. "I think I fell asleep. How long did you let the phone ring?"

"You picked it up on the second ring," he said.

I looked out at the night, momentarily confused. Wasn't I just watching the sunset? I pondered for a moment, then dismissed the thought. David. I didn't need to talk to David. David was what was bothering me. David was why I couldn't sleep.

"David, I'm feeling kinda sick right now. Could I call you tomorrow?" I said at last, interrupting him in mid-sentence. I wonder what she was saying?

There was a long silence, then he said, "Yeah, sure, I'll talk to you tomorrow."

"Bye, Dave. I love you," I said. I wasn't sure how true that was, but I held to it as blind faith. He was a nice guy.

"Goodbye." He hung up, and the phone buzzed in my ear. I reached over and put it in the cradle, then lay back. Sunset. Where did it go?

I took a final drag off my cigarette, then crushed it in the ashtray. I flipped on the T.V. and sat back. Static creased the picture of some stupid woman talking about douche. What a fucking whore, to get up in front of millions of people and talk about feeling "fresh." The morality of this country sliding; some day, people will fuck in the streets. Then what? We're just as bad as apes again; gone full circle. I sighed to myself, since nobody else was around. I needed a drink.

The kitchen was a whole new experience: the fluorescent light exploded across the room when I flipped the switch, showering the chrome and glass with dazzling brilliance. I let my eyes adjust: I wasn't used to all that light. I took a tentative step toward the haloed refrigerator. It seemed so large before me; a virtual giant looming over me. It challenged me to retrieve a soda; it seemed to threaten me.

The handle felt icy in my moist grasp; I could see the quaking in my nervous hand as I gently pulled. I felt the looming presence above me; the room seemed to expand. I felt kind of like Alice in Through the Looking Glass, and I reached for a Pepsi too late. The room was receding; I couldn't reach...

Then the phone rang and jangled me back to reality. I siezed the moment and yanked a can from the plastic binding. I decided I wouldn't risk the whiskey, and fled the kitchen. The phone rang again.

I flipped the light as I hurried past, then settled into my couch. Commercials were still on -- it was that goddamned douche woman again. I lit a cigarette and kicked my feet up onto the coffee table.

The phone rang and I looked at it. Who was that? I told David I'd call him. If he...

Feeling suddenly vindictive, I seized the phone. The reciever felt cold in my hand; that suited me just fine. I felt rather cold at the moment.

"Hello?" I demanded.

"Domino's. Did you order a pizza?"

I didn't reply; I didn't want to talk to people right now. I hung the phone in the cradle with a limp hand and sat down. I sat down, the weight of eighteen tons of air pressing down on me.

I looked back at the T.V. and was disappointed. News. What happened to my movie? I groaned inwardly as I popped open my soda. At least I could take pleasure in that. I tilted my head back and took a long drink of warm Pepsi.

So now even that small comfort was to be robbed of me! I set the can down on the table and curled into a ball on the couch. The soda hated me too. Nothing liked me. I cried in my futility, wishing it all could end.

I must have fallen asleep that way, with my wet cheek pressed up against the salt-stained sofa arm. The next thing I remember, I was laying there, and the sun was streaming over me.

A veil of confusion lay over last night's events. I couldn't figure out for sure when David called, but I knew I didn't want to talk to him any more now than I had wanted to then. Johnathin's death still weighed too heavy on my mind; David's comforting efforts served only to annoy me. I just wanted to be alone.

I got up from where I had slept and stretched. The early rays of sunlight were just reaching the window, illuminating the swirling dust. I needed to clean; it had been too long. I walked into the kitchen and flipped on the light, the cool glow of fluorescent bulbs soothing my tired eyes. I started a pot of coffee and went down the hallway toward the bathroom.

The walls started breathing about halfway there, and as I stared, I became consciously aware of how small I seemed. The hallway stretched into eternity on either side of me: I was horrified, with nowhere to run.

I froze in my tracks -- my apartment wanted to kill me, and I knew it. I just stood, awaiting my imminent death.

Then it passed. The walls quit churning and the room was normal. I went to the bathroom and pulled off my jeans. The cold toilet lid felt pleasantly cool through my panties; I sat there for a moment and let it soothe. Then I plugged the drain in the tub and started the hot water. I always do that; by the time the tub is full, I finally have enough hot water to make the bath comfortable. Then I undressed, and used the toilet. My bath was relaxing, but I must have fallen asleep in the tub, because when I returned to the kitchen, the coffee had boiled dry and the sun lit the kitchen. I thought that very peculiar, since my bathwater had still been hot when I drained it. The coffee was a bigger problem: it had charred to the bottom of the pot and was giving off a foul smoke. Deciding I wasn't up to cleaning it now, I took a soda from the fridge and sat down at the table. Half my day wasted in the tub. I sipped at the Pepsi and lit a cigarette.

David. His name kept turning up in my thoughts, haunting my waking hours. He was in Chicago now, he shouldn't haunt my thoughts in St. Louis. But he kept calling, kept asking me to move in with him. Too much, too fast. Johnathin had only died a year ago, his corpse tangled in the wreckage of an F-19. I wasn't ready to take on another man. Besides, David would not be that man. I knew he only wanted to manipulate me; to use me and fuck me and show me off at office parties. I didn't need that.

I stood up decisively, and walked back to my bedroom. I removed my robe, put on a fresh set of matched underwear, and pulled on a denim-waisted light cotton skirt. I chose an olive blouse from my closet, then brushed my hair.

In the mirror, the long auburn waves that cascaded over my shoulders seemed to writhe as my brushed stroked them. They looked like snakes, hundreds of little snakes, wrapping around my shoulders. I stared in horror at the vision, watching my Medusa head writhe. Oh, the horror! The room was receding, I seemed to fade away: brilliant shimmers crashed through the room.

Then it was over. The room steadied; the harsh light was gone. The sun was setting. What time was it?

I looked in the mirror at my unkept appearance and grimaced. I must have fallen asleep again. Funny, that. I didn't feel ill. I watched myself make puzzled expressions in the mirror, then laughed nervously.

The phone rang, and I jumped. Who was it now? I didn't want to talk to anyone, I just wish they would go away. They all hate me anyway.

The phone rang again. Who was that? Curiosity had a strong foothold in my mind now; I wanted to know who it was. Biting my lip, I lifted the receiver.

"Hello?" I asked, my voice a dull whisper. Long distance static was my only reply. "Hello?" I asked again, louder this time.

"Hi," came David's distorted voice. "Why aren't you answering the phone?"

Good Christ, couldn't this man take a hint? I wanted to be left alone. "Uh, I was sleeping," I replied slowly, to get that "just-awakened" sound to my voice.

David hesitated. "Oh. Are you sick?"

I was confused for a moment: that seem question troubled me. "Yeah, I think so," I replied. Better to let him think so.

"Oh. Well this is your husband. Remember me? I was just wondering when you were coming to Chicago. I've got a job lined up and..."

David's voice trailed off into unintelligible syllables. What the hell was wrong with him? He wasn't making any sense! I screamed and slammed the phone down. That persistent bastard!

I stood and stormed down the hall. I curled up on the sofa and turned on the T.V., watching the colored fuzz slowly evolve into a picture.

I don't know for sure who it was on the screen, but he was wearing vestments and thumping his Bible. His words didn't make sense, but I knew from the fire in his eyes what he was saying. He wanted to kill me, that's all he wanted. God even hated me, he was saying.

I shrank back from the screen, cowering against the back of the couch, but he was relentless. There were people coming for me now, people that wanted to hurt me. He sent them; they would kill me and desecrate my body.

I was scared; scared deep into the marrow of my bones. My body felt like one big shiver and I had an ache in my bladder. With a sudden burst of adrenaline energy, I rolled over the back of the sofa. The zealous ring of his unintelligible voice chased me, pushing me back, away from the television. I screamed again, my anguish momentarily overwhelming the preacher's drone. In that instant, I lifted my brick doorstop, and with strength I didn't know I had, I hurled it at the screen.

My accuracy was surreal; a shower of sparks and the dull whump of imploding glass filled the room. Then all was silent.

I crawled back to my sofa cautiously. Eyes wide, I peeked over the back of the couch, then grinned at my victory.

I had won. I had finally won, I was free now. I stood up slowly, exalting in my victory, happy to be my own person -- then I fell to my knees.

The T.V. no longer threatened, but now the whole room was quaking, expanding, breathing. It was coming for me, attacking me. It wanted to destroy me, just like everything else.

I began to cry, more out of fear than self-pity. I dragged myself away from the heaving walls, pulled myself against the sofa. The phone rang in the distance; my pounding head vibrated with its angry howl. Who was that?