Channel 7

The Writer

by

Andrew


So...lets see three monthes holed up in the piece of shit room, the cat is starting to grow anxious, the laundry is piling up by the minute and I now have 3 pets, the fish, the cat, and ants. Alcohol bottles do that...
I am sitting in my recliner, in desperate need of a shower or a drink or just a touch of divine inspiration, whichever you prefer. I don't know, "I'm gonna write a novel!" sounds like such a step in the right direction until the words stop flowing and then its all downhill from there. You slowly watch yourself run into that enormous construction knows as "Writers Block" and then the alcohol comes because you have this deadline, see? And you can't very well call up your editors and go, "Yeah, hey, Al? Yeah about that book I've been promising for the past year, well I might need a raincheck on that."
They just aren't that goddamned forgiving.
I had a nice little apartment on the 25 floor, with a nice window showing me the city and providing a lovely view of the skyline, especially the sunrises. Those were breathtaking, highlighting my calender as I marked off yet another day where I drank, jerked off, maybe showered, and fed the cat.
Let's see...scan the page...oh look, the last words I wrote in my story, "Jonathan realized that surely murder was not the answer to this simple little problem, but merely a means of overcoming the deep desire in himself to kidnap his lover. Murder was always a much better solution than subjecting a human being to the indignity of enslavement, and removing that inaliable right to the pursuit of happiness." and that was it. That verbose little ditty was to be the turning point in my epic "Homoerotic" mystery. A failed effort appartently.
Bear Paw publishing would just have to wait.
I sat the laptop down beside the chair and picked up the remote controller, mindlessly flipping channels for three to four hours had proven to be an incredible time killer. You can close your eyes and simply float away on the waves of static.
Good ole channel 7. Thats the ticket. For some reason though I had satellite and channel 7 was supposed to be the weather channel, it was blank static. Nothing had ever shown on it, not even a distorted picture in all the time I had watched it, and believe me that was alot.
I stared at it for an hour petting Lucy when he jumped into my lap, "Luce..I believe I need to stop drinking...it could be interferring with my mental process." I said tiredly, my voice sounded dull through the snow storm booming out over my tv's speakers.
I sat him down and walked over to the fridge selecting a jug of orange juice then taking a bottle of Bicardi triple distilled vodka, Smirnoff to be precise, and poured a screwdriver, drinking it down quickly.
I turned and looked out the window again, night had falled over the city and still another day was on its way out. Progress on my novel, zilch.
See, what I was really doing was mentally preparing myself for the sudden shock when the light shown through that monstrous block of concrete in my head, were I not imbibing as I was the shock of the sudden breakthrough would certainly kill me. The funeral would be a short affair, the priest would stand up and say, "This poor bastard," in an elegant irish catholic tradition, "Made the epic mistake of not partakin' in that which tha good Lerd, gave us. May his soul rest in piece, brethers..and may we never ferget his folly."
My coffin would go in the ground and the tombstone would read, "Died of lack of drinking."
Simple as that. At least that was the excuse I was sporting tonight. Either way I had another screwdriver.
I went back to the chair and stared at channel 7 for a bit longer. Maybe it was the drinks or perhaps it was me but damned if it didn't look like we might get a show after all tonight.
I leaned forward in my chair as I stirred the third screwdriver I had poured, and damned if I wasn't right. An outline was fading in, for some reason I looked out the window, then glanced back at the screen.
A face was staring back at me. Just for a split second then the screen flickered back to static then I could see a crystal clear picture.
"The fuck-" I stood up and moved over to the screen kneeling down in front of it. I was looking at an island oasis. Blue ocean tinged with green, you only get that in the bahama's or hawaii or somewhere special like that, but damned if I could tell where this was at. And there was someone on the beach now that I looked closer...Hell, alot of someones. Then it was gone. Back to static.
I sat there thoroughly puzzled then looked back at the window, the city was shining brightly below, then once more back at the tv screen.
The dead rotted face that looked back at me was ghastly.
I fell back on my ass scooting away from the screen, the dead jaw dropped and hung open for a moment, then the sickest rasping voice I have ever heard spoke.
"There is no outside."
I felt my heart pounding in my chest, the buzz I was sporting was gone, sweated out I supposed, I twisted and turned to run. The buzz must have still been there somewhere, because I tripped over the chair and landed on my face. Blood shot out of my nose as I made it to the door, and pulled it open. There was nothing there. Absolutely nothing outside my door. I looked back at the screen, solid static.
I looked back and still nothing.
But not the good "nothing" no, this was the "bad" nothing. Black screen. Game over. Nothing out there. I looked over that the window, same thing. Nada. Dark. Blackness.
"What the fuck is going on?!" talking to yourself is one of the first signs of insanity, said Willy the Mental Divergence Warning Bull.
I backed up and sat in my recliner. Ok, too much alcohol. Thats it, liver has probably ruptured backing up all those harmful toxins into my bloodstream causing massive hallucinations. Simple as that. I'm going to gather my mind quickly and make a call to the local 911 dispatch, so the nice men in the ambulance can come cart my insane ass to the ER.
I went to do just that. I picked up the phone.
"David's dead, Chief." the voice on the other side of the line said.
I slammed the reciever down.
David had been gone for monthes. He had left me because of the substance I was currently dying from. He had left tearfully one night after a round of argueing.
I feel sick.
Even crying he was beautiful...
I turned and walked back to the televion, shining out its glorious black and white glow. Static.
I walked to the window and stared into the darkness, there was a city out there, there had to be. I know it.
Wiping my sleeve over the glass, I peered out, was it just me or was there something moving out there. I couldn't quite tell, it was like looking out of window of a submarine lost in the depths of the sea.
I didn't want to dwell on it. Something WAS moving out there...something big.
Back in my recliner I stared at the screen. If this was a hallucination, it was a bad one. And didn't appear like it was going to let up anytime soon..

End part one

Part 2 coming soon

Please give feedback if you wish....