Mathew Hamilton Green
I write then I take a break. I then write again.
Gina stopped walking and stared down at her hand that was deep in her black PVC knee length jacket pocket. The rain streamed down her arm and tried to enter via her wrist but the tight fit stopped the droplets from doing so. Her phone had a crack down the side which would facilitate the demise of its function if any sniff of water was to enter. Now was not the time for such things. She dismissed the voice questioning her lack of focus to have already got it fixed as it had already been three months since it bounced down the stairs of her apartment building and into the wall. It was now ringing and she had to answer. Looking around Gina could see a doorway underneath a destroyed canopy which gave her just enough protection to answer the phone without it being drenched in the downpour. She ran over only just missing a car as it glided by on the road, the rain hitting the ground almost drowning out the whining of its electric motors. The front bumper banged the heel of her shoe as she landed on the pavement. She turned round to shout some obscenity but was too late to be heard and slammed into the wall with an explosion of air from her lungs. She looked in panic at her hand hoping she hadn’t damaged the phone in the collision. It was still vibrating. At least that was still working. Now in the doorway and huddled over in some vain attempt to provide a little more protection from the rain, Gina removed the phone from her pocket and slammed it into her head.