|Memories of Change
Author: Fira Dawnce PM
The room is the same, yet different. Like everything else.Rated: Fiction T - English - Suspense/Drama - Words: 440 - Published: 04-24-12 - id: 3016441
|A+ A- Full 3/4 1/2 Expand Tighten|
Just a response to a prompt...
I wake up. I am not in a bed, not in my room, and I am terrified. I'd had some dream, something terrible, but I can't remember it. I don't want to remember it. I look around and recognize where I am. I am in my living room, but it seems strange, distorted, scary.
The dragon statues have become terrifying objects with points and jagged edges. Everything seems strange and scary, even the papers on the chair. I jump as the heaters kick on and the smell of dust fills my nose. The carpet is rough and scratchy, probably from the mud. I taste blood and realize that I have bitten my cheek.
The red light on the converter box holds my gaze. I feel a thrill of anxiety as I involuntarily move toward it. I open the glass case and put my hand forward, unable to resist. It is smooth, yet dusty. The converter is used so much, but never touched; only remotely controlled. The buttons are not worn at all; they feel just as new as when we first bought the thing.
I remember when we first bought it. The digital TV never worked as good as analog. As we tried to watch a show, the screen kept blinking and flickering out. I remember wishing it would work, that we could just go back to the way things were before everyone switched to digital.
Suddenly I am brought back to the day I first talked to my mom about puberty. She gave me a smooth little box, one with pads inside. As I ran my hands over the box, she told me about how I was now a woman and what periods were for. I would give anything to go back to that day, when all I had to worry about was how to keep my classmates form noticing the pads in my locker. When the worst sight I could come upon was two kids kissing. When things smelled like farts, popcorn, and pizza and you heard about who was dating who and how the last game went.
I drop to my knees, conscious of the board with the nails poking out. Tears fill my eyes. I blink them away but they spill over anyway. My hand is still on the converter box, but now it feels cold and unforgiving. Another cruel sign of "progress."
I walk back to my room. It hasn't changed much, unlike the rest of the world. It's still impossible to clean. I vow to myself that I will never let it change.