Echoes of Newtone
Lisa’s life was a rhythm of routine: work, dinner, television, a fleeting scroll through social media. Then, the message arrived. "Hey, Lisa. It's Craig." Craig Newtone. The voice of her youth, the singer whose music had been the soundtrack to her dreams.
The messages were a balm to her loneliness, filled with personal details and whispered confidences. He spoke of needing a break, of finding solace in connecting with a "real" fan. Lisa, flattered and yearning, believed.
Then came the subtle shifts. The hints of a personal crisis, the whispered requests for help. "Just a small favor, Lisa. You're the only one I can trust."
Lisa hesitated. The money he asked for was significant. She told David, who dismissed it instantly. "A scam, Lisa. Ignore it." Tony advised her to block him immediately.
The advice was sound, logical. But her heart ached. She’d built an emotional world around this connection, a world where she was seen, valued, loved. The thought of losing it was unbearable.
Nights became a blur of tears and anxiety. She’d stare at her phone, the messages a constant temptation. He needs me, she’d think, then recoil at the potential naivety of the thought. Inconsistencies started to appear, small details that didn't quite line up. Each one was a tiny stab of doubt.
One morning, after a sleepless night, Lisa sat on the edge of her bed, her phone trembling in her hand. The weight of her friends' warnings, the gnawing doubt in her gut, finally tipped the scales. With a deep breath, she blocked "Craig Newtone." Then, with a shaking finger, she deleted her account.
The act was both liberating and devastating. The digital world she’d built, the illusion of connection, vanished in an instant. A wave of grief washed over her, a raw, aching loneliness.
Days turned into weeks. Lisa felt adrift, disoriented. She’d catch herself reaching for her phone, then remember. The silence was deafening.
Yet, life moved on. Lisa began to notice the world around her again. The sun on her face, the sound of birdsong, the warmth of a cup of tea. Small things, but real.
Driven by a persistent longing, she created a new social media account. This time, however, she approached it with a newfound caution. She scrolled through profiles, wary of overly flattering messages and requests for personal information.
A part of her still hoped to find genuine connection, a flicker of belief in the possibility of online love. But she was different now, more guarded, more aware. The digital world, she realized, was a minefield. And she, Lisa, was no longer willing to walk blindly through it.
She paused, her finger hovering over the 'search' bar. Would she ever truly be safe? she wondered. Then, with a sigh, she typed in a new name, a local book club. Maybe, she thought, maybe real connection started with real places.
Tessa Yusoff
27 Feb 2025
Echoes of Newtone: A Story of Loss and Connection #ShortStory #Fiction #Loss #Scammer #Celebrity #Crush #Resilience #Texting
The Fallen Oak
The rain hammered against the windows of Elara's home, turning the surrounding fields into a shimmering, watery expanse. The rising floodwaters had turned her house into a temporary island, a stark reflection of the isolation creeping into her thoughts.
She worked from her laptop, trying to ignore the rising water and the rising panic within her. Then a scream, her sister, Lori from the kitchen. “Rob!” she yelled “There is no food!” Elara sighed, of course Rob had eaten everything. Her mind drifted to Nana, across town. Nana, who had always been a pillar of strength, now facing the quiet emptiness of a life without her dear friend, Tim.
Nana had always loved the large oak tree at the edge of her yard. It was a place where she felt close to her late husband. Now, the tree lay fallen, its roots exposed and vulnerable, a symbol of the sudden, unexpected losses that life dealt. It was after her husband passed that Tim moved into the area.
He was a kind man, always ready with a story or a helping hand. They found solace in each other's company, sharing bus trips to the city, quiet afternoons at the museum, and simple breakfasts at the local diner. For two years, their friendship blossomed, a gentle warmth against the chill of loneliness. Then, just as suddenly as he had arrived, Tim was gone, leaving Nana to face the silence once more.
Nana remembered the time Tim had pointed to a small, almost hidden painting in the corner of the museum. 'Look,' he'd said, his eyes twinkling, 'even in the shadows, there's beauty to be found.' That simple observation had stayed with her, a reminder that even in her grief, there was still something to appreciate. Now, staring out at the rain-soaked yard, she wondered if she could still find that beauty in the face of the fallen tree. The oak, once a symbol of strength, now lay prone, its roots exposed and vulnerable. Just like her.
Elara remembered Nana's hands, always busy, always warm. As a child, she'd loved watching Nana knead dough, her movements rhythmic and comforting. Now, she imagined those hands, still and empty. She picked up her phone, her thumb hovering over Nana's contact. After the phone call failed, she decided to send a text. 'Nana, thinking of you. How are you doing? The rain is awful here, but I'm safe. Love, Elara.' She pressed send and waited, watching the little message bubble appear, then disappear. She hoped Nana's phone was charged, that she would see the message.
Outside, the rain intensified, the wind rattling the windows. Elara glanced at the floodwaters, now lapping even closer to the house. She felt a surge of anxiety, not just for herself, but for Nana, alone in her apartment. She imagined Nana sitting by her window, watching the rain, her thoughts drifting to Tim, to Grandpa, to all the losses she had endured. Elara decided to send another Text. 'Just wanted to say, I love you. And I'm going to come see you as soon as I can.'
Nana's phone buzzed softly on the small table beside her. She picked it up, her fingers trembling slightly. Elara's texts filled the screen, a burst of warmth in the grey afternoon. A small tear escaped her eye. She typed back, slowly, 'I'm alright, dear. Just missing everyone. Love you too. Be careful in the storm.' She put the phone down, a flicker of strength returning. Tim had always told her to appreciate the little things, the small connections. Elara’s text was a small thing, but it was a lifeline. She looked out the window again, at the fallen tree. She would make some tea, and perhaps, think about what to do about the fallen tree.
Suddenly, a loud crash came from the living room. Elara jumped, her heart pounding. “Rob!” Lori yelled, her voice laced with exasperation. Elara went to the living room. Rob was standing by the window, looking out at the rain, a half-eaten sandwich in his hand. “What was that crash?” Elara asked. Rob shrugged. “Just moved a chair,” he mumbled, taking another bite. Elara noticed the chair was now blocking the door that lead to the back porch. "Rob." Elara said, "Please, not now." Rob looked at her, and for a moment, Elara saw a flicker of understanding in his eyes. He moved the chair back.
Elara watched the rain, the floodwaters still rising, and sent her text. 'I'm going to figure out how to get there soon.' She knew that the storm was far from over, but the promise kept her focused.
Nana sat by her window, the fallen tree a dark silhouette against the grey sky. The rain continued, a constant reminder of the unpredictable nature of life. Both women knew that the storm would eventually end, but what the world would look like after, remained unknown.
Tessa Yusoff
22 February 2025
The Fallen Oak: A Story of Loss and Connection #ShortStory #Fiction #Loss #Family #Rain #Resilience #Texting
