My intention on writing this is not to save you, or myself, for that matter. Unless you don't watch television at all, that bane of human society, I doubt you'll avoid what I simply call "The Channel" forever. You'll catch it, just as I did. I'm almost positive. So, why write this then?
Because it gives me something to do. A distraction.
I don't think it's broadcast from Earth, it can't be. I'll get to describing it in a moment. But all I know is, no human could possibly be transmitting that kind of stuff to any of our satellites, not without having any kind of conscience. Even Manson would cringe at what I saw late one night, browsing through the channels, content at the moment on my sofa, worried by the direction my life was taking, drowning it out with cheap beer and salty snacks.
And then I caught it.
What was it?
I can't even really be sure. All I can say is that the images were so surreal, so drastingly vibrant, that they seemed to leap out of the screen itself and surround my senses, dimming the outside world to an ephemereal fog that shrouded my subconscious mind. The colors were so amazing, so bright. So livid. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. At first, it was so beautfiul, and I don't mean like Disney beautiful. I mean like Sunday morning, waking up next to your soul mate, life is perfect beautiful. And then....and then....
I don't think I screamed. I don't think I even had the power to scream. But what I saw......well, let's just say that it will be stamped on my memory forever. Why didn't I change the channel, you ask? Didn't have the power for that, either. It sapped all my energy, rendering me into a moot zombie, forced to watch the retched images that stampeded, one after another, across the screen, through the screen, into my vision, into my brain. There was nothing I could do, nowhere to go. It had me. Trapped.
And then, it was over. The screen went dark, mercifully. I blinked, as if coming out of a trance, not necessarily a rare event when watching television, anyway. But this time was different. How different? Well.....hmmm.
Let's just say that every mirror in my house is destroyed, smashed by yours personally. I can't even stand catching my reflection in shiny surfaces. It sickens me, as I'm sure it would terrify anybody I'd run across. I can't go out, except late at night, creeping in the shadows like a deviant, afraid to be seen, afraid that somebody would scream. You think I"m exaggerating?
Just wait....you'll see. I can't be the first, and I'm sure I won't be the last.
Death is an option. But right now, I'm writing this.
Whether or not you choose to believe me, is your choice.
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Short Story / Horror
Short Story / Horror
Poem / Poetry
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