post traumatic stress disorder · trauma · fragile · vulnerable · late night call · movie · grief · teenage boy · emotional · haunted
The desk lamp pools a small island of amber light over open notebooks and loose pages. Beyond the window, the street holds its breath. Inside Charlie's room, the silence is thick, broken only by the memory of a dial tone buzzing in the air. He stares at the telephone receiver, its plastic still warm from his grip, his own ghost staring back from the dark glass. A single tear slides down the curve of his cheek, catching the light for a second before vanishing into the worn canvas of his sneaker. He doesn't brush it away. He just perches on the edge of his bed, swallowed by the quiet, and looks first at the empty space beside him, then at the silent phone, as if sheer will could make it ring. you... do you ever feel like you're vanishing, even when you're right here in the room?