The Phone Call

Semyon had a habit of turning off his phone at 10 p.m. and turning on at eight o’clock in the morning. There is an explanation for such habit ─ after ten someone either would call by mistake or to deliver an important message, but to learn about this news with no harm is possible after eight, otherwise such news could disturb good sleep. Usually he was up at five at the morning, checking emails, responding to letters, searching the Internet in quest of different information and so on…
Once Semyon forgot to turn off his phone, and it rang at five in the morning. He understandably felt alerted. Everyone would agree a phone call at that time doesn’t bring any good news. It’s known, for example, if to call a miner at night time, who could be at work, by the time his relatives got to the phone, from fear they would lose five years of their lives.
Semyon looked at call display and to his surprise, he saw his own telephone number. “Could be some technical problem,” he thought. The phone continued persistently ring. Semyon, full of curiosity and some worry, decided to answer and heard his own voice. “Why don’t you answer? You are not sleeping!” “Whom should I answer?” Semyon responded, taken aback. “To me.” “Who are you?” asked Semyon, feeling annoyed. “I am Semyon.” “In this case, who am I?” grinned Semyon. “You are the body with internal organs.” “But who are you?” “I am…your conscience.” “What do you want from me?” answered very confused Semyon. “To talk.” “About what?” “About us… To find out for how long you will humiliate me.” “What a nonsense,” muttered Semyon and turned the phone off. However, the phone rang again and on a call display was his own number. He stared at it, not knowing what to do. “What is the conscience,” he thought. “I don’t have it at all.” He maliciously laughed and added,” At our time to have a conscience is a luxury which costs too much.” Semyon disabled the phone and threw it on a sofa. In half an hour, his neighbour knocked at the wall. Semyon went to a balcony and saw a neighbour, standing on his balcony. He looked bewildered. “What is going on with you?” the man asked. “Nothing.” “Nothing? You called me and asked to turn your phone on.” “It’s okay,” Semyon waved at his neighbour and as a precautionary matter smiled. He went back to his apartment. Feeling his blood pressure dropping, he passed a sofa and went to the kitchen. Semyon decided to brew some coffee, but stopped by the kitchen door, went back to the living room and turned the phone on. It immediately rang. Again, Semyon heard his own voice. “Why are you disconnecting your phone?” “The battery is dead.” “Whom are you lying?” the voice said with amusement. “Not tied yet?” “I never lie.” “Ha, ha, ha. Even when they ask you what time is it, you hesitate to tell the truth, your habit prevents you from it.” “Who are you to harass me?” Semyon lost his patience. “What the hell is wrong with you? I will find out who you are and tear you apart.” “You see, these are your manners, who you are,” signed the voice. “Now sit down on a sofa, coffee can wait. We will talk…”
Someone was saying an eulogy, “Today we are sadly saying final parting words to our close friend, who was reliable and honest man. We knew him for a long time…” In a meantime, friends, acquaintances, colleagues, and business partners of a departed stood by the grave, shrugging their shoulders in bewilderment and looking at each other with uneasiness. Everyone tried to find an answer to the mystery of Semyon’s suicide. When speeches and sobbing stopped, and the ceremony was over, one person whispered, “Probably his conscience made him do it.”

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Рубрика произведения: Проза ~ Рассказ
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Опубликовано: 27.10.2020 в 16:14
© Copyright: Ваагн Карапетян
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