I stared up at the metal ceiling as the doctor shined another light into my eyes. I heard static as he spoke to a man dressed in a dark suit. I tried to speak, but another line escaped my mouth. I tried to move, but my body gave no response. I tried to think, but only one question continued to dance inside my head. Why does tv rob us of who we are?
I remember sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels. I’ll go from Reah to Sandy Jelly. I’ll watch the news during commercials. I’ll shiver through Horror and cry from Drama. I’ll sing along with the intro songs. I’ll laugh along with the audience after each passing comedian.
I don’t notice the life draining out of my body and into the tv. I don’t realize that my voice now becomes a famous super star’s voice. I don’t hear my phone, but I hear the ones on tv. I was unable to tell that I was becoming a puppet. I had no idea that tv was pulling my strings.
I remember my husband shaking me back into reality. I snapped out of it but only with half a mind. I became slow and unsteady. I stuttered and had trouble thinking. It dawned on me that I was poisoned.
I ran to a doctor, but he was no help. I headed for home and threw out every tv set except the one in the basement. I started to work again. I tried to get my life back on track. The only problem was the tv was already drawing me back.
I remember my husband found me in the basement. I was huddled in front of the tv. I was muttering lines that weren’t mine. I was seeing people who weren’t there. I was poisoned into oblivion.
I stared back at the doctor, who now held a long, black, shiny object at my head. His eyes were wet, but so were mine. His hand shook as his index finger moved to the red button. He took a deep breath and pushed the button. Click!