Number47
First Post
Well, I just couldn't bring myself to hold out any longer, I have to join the Story Hour. Here is a piece of fiction that I wrote a while back. I would like to submit it for publication at some point in time, so don't tell nobody you read it here.
This one is "Television Man", scroll down for other stories as I post them.
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My television no longer worked. That is to say, of course nobody’s television truly worked anymore, but mine didn’t function whatsoever. As I sat watching it at night, I would miss the snowy screen, how it warmed me. I consoled myself, because after all, some people didn’t have real TV’s at all and had to make do with cardboard boxes. At least my TV was real.
I missed television, missed it a lot. I still watched every night. Who didn’t? But it wasn’t nearly the same without any programs. It was even worse now that I didn’t even get static. I always wondered why they called it static, it seemed to be so constantly in motion. I would pretend that they were ants swarming across the TV and that if they stopped for long enough, that there really might be a picture underneath. “Get off there, you ants,” I would say. “Can’t you see that you’re covering up Lucille Ball?” But I would do this quietly, even self-consciously. I wouldn’t want my neighbors to think I’m crazy. Even worse, some of them didn’t have TVs. I wouldn’t want to give them the idea to steal mine.
I admit I do watch TV a lot. Who doesn’t? But I’m not lazy. I have a job. Actually, I don’t think they let you keep your TV if you don’t have a job. I’m not really sure, I’ve always had both. I work at MultiErgonics, Inc. I’m not sure if the name means anything. I’ve asked my coworkers, but they don’t know either.
I don’t see my coworkers much. I have my own little room I work in, with nobody else. I only see others when I get a drink of water or have to use the bathroom. I used to see them more when I took lunch, but now I eat lunch in my workroom. I’ve found it more comforting to be in there since my TV broke because there’s a big TV-like screen there. It doesn’t do anything, show pictures or ants or even a blue screen, but it does hum so I know it still works. Maybe when the TV pictures come back, the screen will come back, too. When the pictures come back. If they do.
It was three years ago, I guess. I tend to forget about time, day or date because there’s no Good Morning America to help me along anymore. Everyone else says so, too. I remember the night perfectly. Who doesn’t? I was watching an old movie, The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer. I remember they had started to show older and older things because they were running out of things people hadn’t seen before. It was maybe halfway through the movie when all of a sudden it was gone. There was only snow. At first I was impatient, certain that it was only a minor interruption like so many times before. After a while I became concerned, worried that maybe it was my television set. After a long time, I wandered into the street in a vague search for an answer. There were a lot of people milling around just like me. “Did your set go out?” “Yeah.” “Mine too.” Some were crying. I wanted to cry, too. I remember sitting down on the curb, gasping for breath, eyes welling up. A stranger came by and threw her arms around me and just said softly, “I know. I know.” I was grateful for her embrace, but it was not nearly as soft and warm as the glow from my TV had been.
I didn’t sleep that night. After realizing there was no comfort or elucidation in the streets, everyone wandered back to their homes one by one. I sat there all night, unblinking, trying to will my TV back to life. I pleaded with it mentally, told it I loved it, stayed with it well past dawn to show it my utter devotion, my belief that it would still make things better. It was a test, I told myself. If my faith in TV is strong, surely it won’t forsake me. Only a test, I said. My hopes, slowly over the months, rotted down to a dull, aching emptiness.
Still, I’m lucky I have a job I like. It’s not difficult to do, but took a lot of training. I wait in the dim room of buttons, the room where I work alone. If the red button flashes, I have to press the pink button. If the green button flashes, I press the blue one. Now if the orange button flashes, I have to either press the green or the magenta button depending on what was the last button to flash. But I won’t bore you with shop talk.
My favorite part is my scheduled water break. I get to stand by the water cooler and talk with my work friends for ten minutes. It was really difficult for a while after the TV stopped. We had nothing to talk about. We just stood there and someone would say, “Last night would’ve been Movie of the Week.” Someone else would say, “Yep, every Monday. Sure miss it.” Then we would all get quiet again. Sometimes we talked about shows we had watched a long time ago, back when there was TV, but we would have to stop before we got all choked up. We are at work, after all. Eventually somebody, I think it was Fred, started telling us about what he was watching on TV. He was pretty shy about it at first, embarrassed I guess, but we encouraged him. He told us that he watched the static and imagined that he was really watching a documentary about snow. He would turn the volume up and it would sound like snow, too. Then he imagined what would the commentators be saying if we could hear them over the storm? It really got us all thinking. After all, why not talk about what we were watching on TV? We all still watched TV, even though it didn’t really come on anymore. Who didn’t? A couple days later, I told them about the ants I saw on the screen. They all laughed and said, “Yep, they sure do seem like ants. Don’t we all wish we could just up and brush them off?”
Tim had one of those TVs that just showed a blue screen when there wasn’t a signal. He imagined that it was water. Bright blue glowing water, like it was irradiated or from another planet, maybe. He said he liked to sit back and watch the alien water and wait to see if he could glimpse an alien. Sometimes he would put his ear right up to the glass and listen for them. He says that he thinks that he can almost hear voices. Beautiful, blue, liquid voices. I like it when it’s his turn to talk about what he watches on TV. It makes me kind of float away.
I get embarassed when they ask me. I tried lying for a little while, recalling to them about the ants. They would just say, “That again?” I eventually told them that my TV stopped working, but I still watched it. I usually liked to pretend that I was looking at space. Like I was an astronaut traveling so far in deep space that the only thing outside was black.
We talked about our odds of ever having TV again. Real TV, that is. I just started figuring that if TV miraculously came back, well why shouldn’t my TV start working again, too? As long as I came home from work every day and pulled the knob and sat in front of it, surely I would be rewarded with working TV when it all came back. If it came back.
I think the loneliest part of my day is when I pull the knob on the TV. Nothing happens. Not even the warm hum to greet me. I still make sure to pull the knob, though, and push it in when I go to bed. It wouldn’t feel like TV watching if I didn’t. If I didn’t, it would seem somehow…dirty.
I have bad thoughts sometimes. Sometimes I think briefly, maybe I shouldn’t sit here in front of my dead TV, maybe I should just take a walk instead. I resist these thoughts, try to remain strong. It will all be better again when TV comes back.
If it comes back.
This one is "Television Man", scroll down for other stories as I post them.
----------
My television no longer worked. That is to say, of course nobody’s television truly worked anymore, but mine didn’t function whatsoever. As I sat watching it at night, I would miss the snowy screen, how it warmed me. I consoled myself, because after all, some people didn’t have real TV’s at all and had to make do with cardboard boxes. At least my TV was real.
I missed television, missed it a lot. I still watched every night. Who didn’t? But it wasn’t nearly the same without any programs. It was even worse now that I didn’t even get static. I always wondered why they called it static, it seemed to be so constantly in motion. I would pretend that they were ants swarming across the TV and that if they stopped for long enough, that there really might be a picture underneath. “Get off there, you ants,” I would say. “Can’t you see that you’re covering up Lucille Ball?” But I would do this quietly, even self-consciously. I wouldn’t want my neighbors to think I’m crazy. Even worse, some of them didn’t have TVs. I wouldn’t want to give them the idea to steal mine.
I admit I do watch TV a lot. Who doesn’t? But I’m not lazy. I have a job. Actually, I don’t think they let you keep your TV if you don’t have a job. I’m not really sure, I’ve always had both. I work at MultiErgonics, Inc. I’m not sure if the name means anything. I’ve asked my coworkers, but they don’t know either.
I don’t see my coworkers much. I have my own little room I work in, with nobody else. I only see others when I get a drink of water or have to use the bathroom. I used to see them more when I took lunch, but now I eat lunch in my workroom. I’ve found it more comforting to be in there since my TV broke because there’s a big TV-like screen there. It doesn’t do anything, show pictures or ants or even a blue screen, but it does hum so I know it still works. Maybe when the TV pictures come back, the screen will come back, too. When the pictures come back. If they do.
It was three years ago, I guess. I tend to forget about time, day or date because there’s no Good Morning America to help me along anymore. Everyone else says so, too. I remember the night perfectly. Who doesn’t? I was watching an old movie, The Bachelor and the Bobbysoxer. I remember they had started to show older and older things because they were running out of things people hadn’t seen before. It was maybe halfway through the movie when all of a sudden it was gone. There was only snow. At first I was impatient, certain that it was only a minor interruption like so many times before. After a while I became concerned, worried that maybe it was my television set. After a long time, I wandered into the street in a vague search for an answer. There were a lot of people milling around just like me. “Did your set go out?” “Yeah.” “Mine too.” Some were crying. I wanted to cry, too. I remember sitting down on the curb, gasping for breath, eyes welling up. A stranger came by and threw her arms around me and just said softly, “I know. I know.” I was grateful for her embrace, but it was not nearly as soft and warm as the glow from my TV had been.
I didn’t sleep that night. After realizing there was no comfort or elucidation in the streets, everyone wandered back to their homes one by one. I sat there all night, unblinking, trying to will my TV back to life. I pleaded with it mentally, told it I loved it, stayed with it well past dawn to show it my utter devotion, my belief that it would still make things better. It was a test, I told myself. If my faith in TV is strong, surely it won’t forsake me. Only a test, I said. My hopes, slowly over the months, rotted down to a dull, aching emptiness.
Still, I’m lucky I have a job I like. It’s not difficult to do, but took a lot of training. I wait in the dim room of buttons, the room where I work alone. If the red button flashes, I have to press the pink button. If the green button flashes, I press the blue one. Now if the orange button flashes, I have to either press the green or the magenta button depending on what was the last button to flash. But I won’t bore you with shop talk.
My favorite part is my scheduled water break. I get to stand by the water cooler and talk with my work friends for ten minutes. It was really difficult for a while after the TV stopped. We had nothing to talk about. We just stood there and someone would say, “Last night would’ve been Movie of the Week.” Someone else would say, “Yep, every Monday. Sure miss it.” Then we would all get quiet again. Sometimes we talked about shows we had watched a long time ago, back when there was TV, but we would have to stop before we got all choked up. We are at work, after all. Eventually somebody, I think it was Fred, started telling us about what he was watching on TV. He was pretty shy about it at first, embarrassed I guess, but we encouraged him. He told us that he watched the static and imagined that he was really watching a documentary about snow. He would turn the volume up and it would sound like snow, too. Then he imagined what would the commentators be saying if we could hear them over the storm? It really got us all thinking. After all, why not talk about what we were watching on TV? We all still watched TV, even though it didn’t really come on anymore. Who didn’t? A couple days later, I told them about the ants I saw on the screen. They all laughed and said, “Yep, they sure do seem like ants. Don’t we all wish we could just up and brush them off?”
Tim had one of those TVs that just showed a blue screen when there wasn’t a signal. He imagined that it was water. Bright blue glowing water, like it was irradiated or from another planet, maybe. He said he liked to sit back and watch the alien water and wait to see if he could glimpse an alien. Sometimes he would put his ear right up to the glass and listen for them. He says that he thinks that he can almost hear voices. Beautiful, blue, liquid voices. I like it when it’s his turn to talk about what he watches on TV. It makes me kind of float away.
I get embarassed when they ask me. I tried lying for a little while, recalling to them about the ants. They would just say, “That again?” I eventually told them that my TV stopped working, but I still watched it. I usually liked to pretend that I was looking at space. Like I was an astronaut traveling so far in deep space that the only thing outside was black.
We talked about our odds of ever having TV again. Real TV, that is. I just started figuring that if TV miraculously came back, well why shouldn’t my TV start working again, too? As long as I came home from work every day and pulled the knob and sat in front of it, surely I would be rewarded with working TV when it all came back. If it came back.
I think the loneliest part of my day is when I pull the knob on the TV. Nothing happens. Not even the warm hum to greet me. I still make sure to pull the knob, though, and push it in when I go to bed. It wouldn’t feel like TV watching if I didn’t. If I didn’t, it would seem somehow…dirty.
I have bad thoughts sometimes. Sometimes I think briefly, maybe I shouldn’t sit here in front of my dead TV, maybe I should just take a walk instead. I resist these thoughts, try to remain strong. It will all be better again when TV comes back.
If it comes back.
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