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STATIC
by Andrew Condouris
I don’t know what to do.
There’s no reason for living this way, exposed to this fire. Yes,
that’s what it was. There was no other thing behind it but more fire,
hotter and hotter. Yes, that’s all. He had invented it and it was his
right to give it away, unpatented and free for better souls. What was
his comprised of anyway? Fire. Nothing but fire. No, it must go to a
stranger.
Which one?
The hustle-bustle of the street corner gave him too many options. They
were looking at him, too. Who does he think he is, walking around with
something like that? How does he power it? What’s he trying to sell me
in the twilight?
So afraid they might miss something.
He walked to the East until he could see the gleam of the river. If he
jumped with it, would it take him, too? Sure, the weight would bring
him where he needed to go.
But what’s beyond the static?
A policeman eyeballed him, made sure he was only disturbing himself and
no one else. The man walked on, tips of his ears red as a stop sign. If
he gave it to the policeman, there would be questions. He wouldn’t be
able to escape.
There. Over there in the alleyway.
He walked over and saw the homeless man sitting in the cardboard box
with his little foxlike dog. A sign saying they would Work for Food.
“Take it.”
“What is it?”
“A gift.”
“OK,” the homeless man said, reaching out with his raw hands.
Over. Free. Now it’s a few steps at
the right moment. Ah! There’s that bus speeding through the traffic.
This will do. It’s all in the execution of it. I simply step out and—
George had owned a TV before he went off the grid, but he’d never seen
one like this. Black, no buttons, smallish. And the screen went on and
off by itself, static snow grumbling like wildfire on the screen.
Watson, his foxlike dog, cocked his head whenever the screen lit up.
Like that RCA dog, heh.
Then he noticed something odd. Whenever someone walked by the alleyway,
the static would appear. When there was no one, it would fade. If he
let go of the TV and placed it on the ground, then a single line would
appear on the screen. This line would bubble up and would turn into an
eye.
What are you looking at, my friend?
Don’t you see that I’m full of love? Filled to the brim with it. I
didn’t know what to do with it, so I ended up here. I don’t know why it
happened that way. Couldn’t be avoided, even if I tried. So, I did my
best, you see? Tried to protect this love as best I could. Kept it a
secret thing.
Watson whimpered. George picked the TV up again, placed it under his
arm, and walked with it to the lip of the alley. Winston followed. Yes,
the TV would buzz to life whenever a soul walked by. They’d eye it and
then look away quickly, afraid of what they saw in the snow. Winston
growled lowly.
“Now be a good boy, Winston.”
Everything’s going to be alright.
The
End
© 2014 Andrew Condouris
Bio: Andrew
Condouris lives in Lawrenceville, New Jersey with his wife, a
mischievous cat named Lester and a histrionic dog named Pilot.
E-mail: Andrew
Condouris
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