The T.V. flicked on. A morning show about the latest gossip mixed with heavy lashings of omelette. The man slouched back, feeling the sink as the cushioned pillow moulded around his shoulders. But he had long since lost that satisfaction.
His mind swept languorously across the coming day. A noonday movie, a served lunch, flicks to dinner which would be brought to him on a plastic platter. He sighed, slinking further. What more could a man need? He knew he didn't want to pause to answer that. In a hurry to get away from it, he returned to a memory, the first that came to mind. Marking it as safe, he let himself slip further.
There he stood on the edge of a park, watching as everyone played. The creak of the swing, the scrape of the slide. All tempted him. It was the voices though, that enticed him the most. The idea of interaction with fellow boys, girls too if he dared. He could run and jump and play. Cliché though now he thought, as he added fly to the list. But it was how he had felt.
"Come on son." The words were as fresh as yesterday. He knew he had no choice. As a boy he turned, as a man he stopped. Alarm bells were ringing in his mind. No longer did he want to think about this memory.
"And with current investments rising…" Thankfully he returned to his honey-coated show. "We'll be sure to have a cold summer." He didn't care that the presenter's rarely made sense.
For easy minutes he watched a steam mop wash away the man-made stains. "You won't even remember the stains ever being there."
"Fat chance," he muttered, though why he was not sure. A stain would always lie there in the past, even though it would be gone in the present.
Why did they always smile on those shows? Smiles through those sappy pretences. Lies, that's all that it was, lies to suck you in.
This is real. All of it is real. The words plucked themselves from his memory. He questioned where they came from, and, unable to locate them, he let himself slip off into his mind's expanse.
His body rested uncomfortable on the hard green chair, others sitting diligently around him. Face turned forward, he wished to break the conformity but could not.
"Everything you read is real. He is real." His hand flashed upwards. "Believe it, live it. Take each day and live it for Him, for only then can your love for him be real. Amen."
"Amen." A chorus of diligent parrots.
The man standing professed he was not lying, and effortlessly, everyone agreed. All except the boy who snapped back to the smiling hosts. However not before one last thought slipped into his mind, 'why does everyone agree so easily?'
"It really is a horrific thing done there." What were they talking about? That's right, he realised, the murder of that small child.
"Horrific," he muttered, agreeing easily. Why does everyone agree so easily? The thought again presented itself in his mind, and it stayed this time, resting for an answer.
"That suit looks stunning on him. Why don't we all have a figure like that?" A chuckle from the T.V.
He looked down at his own pudgy body. Why don't I have a body like him?
"Now whilst banks seem ominous for most, take these few tips."
"Bloody banks." He agreed. He had agreed. Such a statement had been put before him, such an easy said thing that he had automatically agreed. He hated his body, wished to be thinner, and found the murder horrific. All because it had been put to him on a platter. Maybe it was them agreeing with him, but he knew it was not that way.
"Have a great day, enjoy some of that sun while it lasts." Amen. He couldn't stop the thought barraging into his mind. Amen.
It had been easy, so easy. The smiling host had commanded, and effortlessly, he had agreed. Why do I agree so easily?
With that question he realised, that a memory lay hidden in his mind. Not hidden, clouded; altered to present what he wanted.
"Believe it, live it." The small boy rested uncomfortably on the hard pew. Faces turned forward, he wished to break the conformity but could not. "Take each day and live it for Him, for only then can your love for him be real. Amen."
Whilst none could hear the small boy's squeak, he himself heard it loud and clear.
As he returned to the couch the question now returned to his mind. Why do I agree so easily?
He had become what he had tried not to be. Whilst trying to discard his effortless agreeing's, he had not realise he was slipping into it. He had become what he had once feared.
Determined he begun to rise, to make some start in his realisation.
"And now, all the news from the hotspots around the world. Half an hour of information crammed into twenty-two minutes."
He paused, then settled down. After this show, he decided, that's when he would do it. Just after this show.