SHORT STORY ENTRY: Creative Competitor

Dear all,

Here is another short story entry I can now blog. Check out the competition, and the winner, on the link below. The maximum word count was 700 and the given title was "No Way Out" (there was also a photo prompt, although that was optional). 
Creative Competitor


You have to leave madam… no, no. No. No! No more phone calls.
Ajeet’s mobile phone flashes a luminescent pearl white glow into the room. His form emerges from the blackness, his features cut into strips as if a flare has been ignited at sea and his fragmented form a momentary apparition floating in the nothingness. He slams the screen against his quadriceps in a panic. A line of sweat breaks out across his forehead. What was worse? The light or the sound? The impact of glass-on-jean or the pop of light through the eyehole? Ajeet dares not move.
No. No more wait. Time up. You have to go. You go. You go. You must leave. We take keys. These. Keys. We take keys.
The sweat cools and dries. They did not hear. They did not see.
No cry. No more. No more. We have been through everything. Rules. We follow rules. Law, yes. The law.
They’ll be gone soon. This is how it ends.
Ajeet feels a tap on his chest. It’s impossible to see in the blackness. He keeps his phone pressed painfully against his leg, terrified of the faintest escape of light and slowly raises his other hand to feel his shirt. A small circle, no larger than a postage stamp, is damp. Ajeet’s face contorts, confused and fearful of anything unexpected. He keeps his eyes fixed on the hole. He must make sure they are gone.
Yes. Go now. Go. No more here. No more stay. Go see friends. Go see family. Don’t come back. Go to council. Council. Council.
Ajeet hears the men lock the room and counts their steps. He waits to hear the heavy front door slam shut. They have all gone. Now he can breathe. He peels the phone off his leg and looks at the screen. A text message reads: Safe? He blinks and feels further taps on his chest. The damp is from his tears. He presses the buttons as quietly as he can: Yes. I LOVE YOU.
Ajeet keeps his room darkened. He has survived another week. He knows they may come for him next but there are plenty of people in the building and he will pray they pick others. He listens for movement and feels the vibrations of the others creeping from their hiding places. There is no noise, only dull tremors. Somewhere a door creaks and the building silences itself as if plucked from existence. There are no people if there is no sound. Ajeet knows this. He knows the risks. He fixes his gaze on the floor. He imagines he can see his feet in the depthless black. Memories rush him. Pictures of a desperately dreamed future rush him. How long before she finds a way to him?

Have a great weekend,

R.G Rankine