Prefer to download and print this story? Click here. Otherwise, enjoy!
It’s junk day.
You know, the day that the city lets you throw extra stuff out for spring cleaning.
Everyone has dragged their unwanted stuff out to the curb and now it’s all sitting, waiting to magically disappear tomorrow while they’re at work.
It’s a convenient service and it’s nice that the city offers it… at least, it would be if I wasn’t sitting out here, waiting to get thrown into a garbage truck and crushed to bits.
Yup, woe is me.
I’m just an old cathode ray tube—CRT—television that was blessed with sentience but was simultaneously cursed to remain incapable of communicating with the outside world. No voice box came with the deal.
I don’t have any motor skills since I’m made of metal and plastic so wiggling my antenna in rudimentary sign language was never an option either. Also, I’m calling bunk on “The Brave Little Toaster,” none of those things could’ve walked!
Anyway, I do have minor control over the amperage traveling through my circuits so I could flicker the screen in Morse Code if either I or my family understood that. But, the likelihood that they’d notice that that flicker was Morse Code and not the, you know, regular flickers that the average CRT-TV does, would be incredibly unlikely.
It probably would’ve simply landed me out here on the curb years sooner, or sent some member of the family into the psych ward. “The TV it’s flickering in Morse Code! I swear it! See! It just did it again! It’s trying to speak with us!..”
Yeah, it’s probably better that didn’t happen.
So, if you’re wondering how my internal monologue is still running when I’m not plugged in, then you’re a smart, albeit imaginary, listener. I’ve often wondered that myself, and I’ve got my guesses. I’m thinking that it has something to do with static electricity, the residual microwave buzz left over from the big bang, or maybe just the fact that I’m literally a sentient TV so maybe the rules are a little different for me now.
Regardless, I get to sit out here, covered in dew, and wait for the inevitable without being able to turn off the rudimentary awareness I possess.
Swell, right? I would sigh, but I don’t have any lungs… ah well.
I wasn’t always bummed out like this. It’s just that after slowly becoming cognizant of what was going on around me, I had thought it would’ve ended up meaning more than it has.
I know what you’re probably thinking: “Hey nameless sentient, outdated technology, cheer up! Someone might just come along and pick you up, fix you up and give you a new home… or at least use you for parts.” But that hope of mine ended when the third overloaded tailgate, and accompanying trailer, drove off with the old entertainment center I’ve sat on for the last 25 years and left me behind. It wasn’t even in good shape.
But, I mean, what use is an old TV to anybody? I’ve come to terms with it. I’m over it.
…
I’m mostly just sad that I’ll never get to spend another night with the family, hearing them talk and laugh…
I guess I’m not quite over that part.
…
Based on the usual morning schedule, I’ve probably only got about 30 or so more minutes left to live, or whatever you call this. So I’m using these last few moments to decide what to call myself.
I’d at least like to go out with a name.
I’ve been leaning toward Todd. I like the alliteration: “Todd the TV, the first and only TV to gain sentience, but destroyed like all the others.” Come to think of it, I have no way of knowing if every other TV gains sentience… yikes.
Speaking of not being able to speak, did you know that speakers can also work like microphones? They function on the same principles, a diaphragm moving or being moved by a magnet that excites electrons in coils and so on… I played a lot of “How it’s Made” over the years. And a lot of “America’s Funniest Home Videos,” but that’s neither here nor there. Basically, I’m saying that I could hear my family even though I never got to see them.
I had always wished that they called me something other than ‘the tube’ or ‘the box,’ or what-have-you. But they never said anything like “Hey, let’s go and watch Trevor the TV,” so here I am trying to name myself.
I used to like to listen to the radio too when my family wasn’t watching me. I was designed to respond to the radio signals that the remote control would send, so you could say it was in my DNA… or my circuitry anyway. But on the subject of intelligent design… who counts as my creator? The guy that first drew up the plans, the engineer that built the prototype, or the guy that assembled me? I guess there’s also the power, intelligence, or energy that made me self-aware to take into account.
I guess I’ll have to think about that afterward… If there is one for something like me.
…
Maybe I could be called something in binary like 0110 and call myself Ollo… or Oollo, or Oolloollo… or Oswald?
Ugh, I hate it.
I wish I could just SCREAM! I get so SICK of being all alone- so sick of being anything at all! Why do I have to name myself!? Shouldn’t there be some sort of receiving party for this kind of thing? “Hello, you are now self-aware, welcome to a higher level of existence,” or something!? I didn’t have parents, I don’t have friends, and the only people that ever paid me any attention considered me a waste of their time… even if a pleasant one.
All I can do is flash a little if I’ve built up enough of a static charge, or slowly jiggle the volume louder and louder when I’m plugged in and turned on. That’s all I can do to try and communicate with the outside world!? REALLY!?!? How is that fair!
I DON’T WANT TO BE DESTROYED!
CAN ANYONE HEAR MY CRIES? MY PAIN? MY PRAYERS?
I DIDN’T ASK TO EXIST! … but now I’m cursed to know I won’t anymore.
…
But I mean, I’ve totally come to terms with it. Most cathode-ray tube television sets were thrown out years ago, so I’ve definitely had a good run.
I just wish it were a little longer.
It seems like the dew is drying… my wires are ‘feeling’ less wet and my tubes are ‘looking’ a bit fogged up… it’s only a matter of time now.
…
There’s a movie I played once. I guess it was based on a book, but I’ve never read any of those. It was about a boy who had to give a princess a name, or the whole kingdom would be destroyed by a giant garbage truck. Ha, just kidding, ‘the Nothing.’
There was a big adventure where the boy reading the story followed along with the other boy in the story and you got to follow along too.
At the end the boy in the story needs to choose a name, the time had run out. But he draws a blank, and the boy in the ‘real world’ calls one out and saves them all.
I always thought it was so silly that the book-boy couldn’t think of a name. I mean there are so many! But the “phone-a-friend” option is looking pretty great right now.
…
Ah. There it is.
That slow rumble, bouncing the pebbles and vibrating my speakers.
Charon’s skiff, my hearse, my crushing end, is arriving.
Please… don’t be here yet. I’m not ready.
Please, I haven’t chosen a name. Please!
Why can’t you hear me! WHY CAN’T ANYONE HEAR ME!? WHY IS THIS HAPPENING TO ME! PLEASE! DON’T-
The man in the white lab coat picks up the old television set. Changing his grip, surprised at the weight.
“Our scouts notified us about this one: the readings are off the charts!” The assistant beside him scribbles down figures that keep flashing across the man’s watch.
“What does it mean, sir?” questions the assistant.
“It means our study can continue.” The man hands the set to the assistant. “Project ATR.eyu is still in effect.”
The two turn and walk back to their government-issued black sedan. They place the CRT-TV in the back seat, buckle it in place with the seat belt then get in, and drive away.
The garbage truck rounds the corner and stops in front of the house with a hungry sigh exhaled from the brakes.