a short story in the perspective of my mom when she smashed the tv when i was in grade 6 (legit.)... wrote this when i was reading Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury (it makes more sense if you've read the book).
The clock struck, bringing about
another hour, on another day, on another week. And that for her meant nothing
more than another episode, another spin on the never-ending
merry-go-round of watching, waiting, watching, waiting...
It had been six hours already and her eyes were still seized by the brightly moving colours.
I thought I should talk. “You know, it would help if you actually started homework not at eleven.”
Nothing.
“Then... maybe you wouldn’t have to sleep at three all the time.”
I heard what I thought to be a faint grunt.
“Can you look at me when I’m talking to you?” I could feel my voice straining, climbing higher, higher, higher.
“Mm hmm. Yeah... in a minute.” My daughter replied, obviously irritated.
Bright light flashed about the room.
“Mm hmm! Yeah! In a minute!” Someone took hold of my voice and I could suddenly see myself from the other side of the room. “Then another minute, then another minute.... How many minutes have you wasted staring at that box?! Don’t you see what a waste this is of you?! How many minutes have you spent watching this?! And how many doing homework? Talking? Living!? How many?!”
Her face was blank and eyes empty.
I felt as if she was slipping through my fingers and all I could do was watch. So I did the only thing I knew I could do next. Get rid of it. Destroy the monster that is destroying my daughter. No, no, get a hold of yourself. But my hands moved, and I watched; watched as the screen shattered to pieces, watched as my daughters pleaded for me to stop, watched as I ruined the thing that ruined me...
It had been six hours already and her eyes were still seized by the brightly moving colours.
I thought I should talk. “You know, it would help if you actually started homework not at eleven.”
Nothing.
“Then... maybe you wouldn’t have to sleep at three all the time.”
I heard what I thought to be a faint grunt.
“Can you look at me when I’m talking to you?” I could feel my voice straining, climbing higher, higher, higher.
“Mm hmm. Yeah... in a minute.” My daughter replied, obviously irritated.
Bright light flashed about the room.
“Mm hmm! Yeah! In a minute!” Someone took hold of my voice and I could suddenly see myself from the other side of the room. “Then another minute, then another minute.... How many minutes have you wasted staring at that box?! Don’t you see what a waste this is of you?! How many minutes have you spent watching this?! And how many doing homework? Talking? Living!? How many?!”
Her face was blank and eyes empty.
I felt as if she was slipping through my fingers and all I could do was watch. So I did the only thing I knew I could do next. Get rid of it. Destroy the monster that is destroying my daughter. No, no, get a hold of yourself. But my hands moved, and I watched; watched as the screen shattered to pieces, watched as my daughters pleaded for me to stop, watched as I ruined the thing that ruined me...
yup. i had a phase where i would watch TV for something like nine hours a day... i was addicted to television. so looking back, i'm glad my mom did what she did albeit she could've done it in a less dramatic way but meh...
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