Infinite Screen

A Story by Flora L

The moment she was born into that small, crowded, house, she only had eyes for the television.

It played a big part in her childhood. Meals were had in front of that infinite screen, laughter was produced, her family came together while watching it. She was entranced. It became more than a material possession to her; it upgraded not only from standard to high definition, but to a symbol of the hearth. It produced warmth, it made her feel.

When young adulthood became too much for her she knew where she could go: anywhere the TV could take her. And that's when the trouble started. Conflict at school and conflict at home became too much, she was a strong girl but knew when she was beaten, and when she was, eventually, she would crawl back to the couch. It was her snail's shell.

After one particularly horrible week she came home from school and sank into the sofa. She looked at the black TV screen, and it looked back at her. She thought of all the tragedies she had seen onscreen, the stories with no happy endings, the bleak ones, and she felt a tear sluggishly track it's way down her motionless face. Very slowly and with no sense of motivation she leant her head back into the pillow and let the worn fabric soak up the salty water from her face.

'I'm not going to get up'.

The thought trickled into her mind, tar-like, obstinate, black, and stubborn. Yes. She was going to stay on that couch forever, like sleeping beauty, but very much awake and watching friends re-runs (she liked re-runs because she knew how the conflict ended). She got up again ('my last time moving' she thought grudgingly), and walked into the kitchen to get some provisions for the rest of her life. Her mother was sitting on the kitchen table, typing mechanically.

" Mum.", she said. Her mother looked up at her in surprise, half moons of sleeplessness beneath her eyes.

"Yes, darling?" Her mother said in a sympathetic voice. She looked at the tear tracks beneath her daughter's blank eyes and felt the weight of them on her shoulders, like a loud, low, siren.

The girl looked at the worry in her mother's eyes and felt guilt push through facts about the characters in 'Scrubs' that were jostling for space in her clouded head.

There was something in that moment that nearly caused a happy ending. The bond between mother and daughter had twitched, like a hibernating bear might twitch as a winter sunbeam chances across it's lair. But the daughter was absorbed in other matters and the mother was tired, so that minute movement in the emotional atmosphere was met with cobwebs.

The girl opened then fridge and hooked a four pack of diet soda out with her index finger.

"Nothing. Wait, actually, what's for dinner".

The mother shook her head. "Wait for dad to come home from work, then he'll decide". She was thinking about reports, and the quickest way she could lessen her workload.

The girl nodded, although she wasn't thinking about dinner either. The East-Enders theme tune had surfaced in her head and she wanted to pay close attention. She left the room with the four pack, took it into the TV room and lay back down on the couch.

This time she really wasn't getting up.