an empty can and a piece of string (DISCONTINUED for now)

3.4 (not proof-read)

Just a few hours ago, a tall boy had been in his bed, endlessly scrolling through his phone, eyes closing involuntarily from lack of sleep the previous night. After feeling a sudden urge to get out of the house, he now found himself 3 miles away from his small town standing a few yards ahead of a wooden fence that separated private property from the public footpath, debating jumping the fence and therefore trespassing. The property in question was a dull-looking forest- probably owned by some rich old guy- in which the leaves of the trees seemed desaturated and largely discoloured despite the time of year. He was unsure what he found so appealing about the forbidden wasteland of decaying trees and the occasional rough mess of rocks that had most likely once been a wall, but the force drawing him towards it felt almost magnetic.

Panting slightly, he cleared the fence, almost getting his shoe caught on the splintering wood, finding a fork in the road. Not much consideration took place as he continued down the lesser-travelled path in a sort of blind sprint. The kid was tall and lanky, with the kind of hair that was damn-near impossible to distinguish the exact colouring of. Somewhere in between a light brown and a sandy-blond colour. It was just long enough that it flowed behind him a little in the wind as he ran, but not reaching much past his ears. He wore an obnoxious floral button up over a creased grey T-shirt and a pair of shorts he had found in a corner of his bedroom- looking not unalike Adam Sandler.

As the path curved further into the trees, he slowed a little. Deciding to deviate from the worn path, he began treading carefully over a short stretch of rocks that led in the opposite direction. It was a precarious route, but he had noticed that the trees in this direction didn't seem as lifeless as the rest of his surroundings. A high pitched yelp could be heard as a rock became unbalanced and whipped the boy's feet right out from underneath him and left him sitting on the hard ground scrambling to get back to an upright position. With his hands clutching at his leg and his face screwed up in a pained expression, he managed to get to a clearing in the trees, eventually walking off the effects of the fall.

This clearing was quite beautiful compared to the rest of the woods, and the leaves of the taller trees at the edge of the clearing created shelter from the relentless sun- a rare occurrence in the northern part of England where he currently lived. However, the boy did not want to sit in the shade just yet. Instead he chose to circle the area, trying to find anything worth coming back to on future visits. On what was probably his third round of the place, something caught his eye. Lying under a thicket was what appeared to be one of those homemade telephones he used to make as a small child. An empty can with a long piece of string attached. The other can was nowhere to be found and the string appeared to be leading somewhere deep in the trees.

Then, reaching down to pick up the can, he had a sort of absurd idea. Bringing it to his lips, he began to speak down the line.
"Um...hello?"
For a second, there was no reply. He lowered his head in disappointment, not only in the lack of reply, but also disappointment in himself for being childish enough to think a few pieces of junk would somehow work a miracle and speak to him. The receiver dropped from his hand as a distinct northern accent sounded from the other end of the line, clear as day
"What the fuck?"