The purple phone looked incongruous sitting on the dirty, scarred table in front of him. It lounged there, smugly indifferent to the gaze of the man watching it, waiting for it to ring.

It was a cheap Jitterbug, bought for a one-time usage. Once it rang, it would be confined to the trash, never to be seen again.

The man shifted restlessly in the old rickety chair. A fat roach (there seemed to be no other kind in this dirty apartment) skittered across the dark linoleum underneath the table. Its claws made a disgusting clittering sound.

Still no ring.

The flier had gone blowing across the street yesterday. On a whim, he snagged it as he was trudging home from his dead end job at the Holiday. He read it, and came to a standstill on the leaf-littered sidewalk.

It was as though a bright solar flare had gone off in his brain. This could be the answer to all his problems. He had no family, no girlfriend, no regular friends, and a dead end job at a Holiday gas station that barely kept a broken roof over his head. He had no prospects, nothing to look forward to, nothing to brighten his days. And that situation did not look to be changing.

He read the ad again, and for the first time in what seemed like forever, he smiled.

That morning, he’d used his employee discount and bought one of the cheap little phones sold by the gas station. The purple Jitterbug that now sat on the table, mocking him. The flier he kept folded in his pocket, where it seemed to burn against his leg with the fire of its purpose. He found himself fingering the paper often throughout his uneventful shift, feeling a heady mix of fear and anticipation in his belly.

He called the number listed in the ad and left a voice mail message while on lunch break. And he’d been waiting for the purple phone to ring ever since.

The suspense was agonizing. Would they or wouldn’t they?

In an attempt to take his mind off the agonizing wait,, he looked around, but there was no distraction to be had. Same filthy, bare wooden walls. Same squib of off-white counter covered in scratches and dings. Same hilly linoleum. The cheap, rundown apartment perfectly symbolized his life.

Like a magnet, his gaze was drawn back to the purple phone. It still sat there, silently laughing at him. “You’re life is in my earpiece,” it seemed to say. “I’m the most important thing in your world, and I relish it.”

Overhead, the Anderson’s were fighting again. His domineering, horrible wife was humiliating him once more, attacking his intellect, masculinity and financial acumen. Day after day the same thing, until Mr. Anderson was reduced to a sobbing wreck.

And still the phone sat silent.

The flier still burned in his pocket. His means of escape, his salvation. Although never before had the idea occurred to him.

The paper made a crisp, matter-of-fact sound as he pulled it out and unfolded it. This is serious business, the sound seemed to say.

He read it again-although by this time he had the whole text nearly memorized.

And just as he got to the last line, the phone finally rang.

As he reached for the phone, the ad played through his head once more.

Feeling like there’s no way out? Are you lost, alone, and afraid of what might come next? Have you come to the end of your rope and can’t take anymore of what life throws at you?

If you answered yes to the above, we have the answer! We’re looking for participants for a very special film-making project. All participants are volunteers and will not be compensated. Your participation is completely anonymous. Please call 1-800-555-0102, if you want a release from your torment!

Never had he thought he would want to be in a snuff film, but now, he wondered why he had ever thought it was a bad idea. And as he answered the phone, a smile blossomed. He would finally be free.