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The house was empty. My mother was at work, and my sister was at school. I was sick with the stomach flu, and old enough to be alone. The majority of the day I enjoyed the quiet, and the warmth of the spring sun penetrating my room. I snuggled under layers of blankets. A bucket was by my side, and my dog was asleep across my feet.

While the house itself was deprived of my family, the cooing and chirping of birds outside, the soft rustle of freshly budding leaves, and the occasional bark of a neighboring dog created a welcoming lullaby to help me drift off while I recovered. The same gentle melody of nature was playing as I woke up in the early afternoon. The only change was the addition of my dog snorting loudly as she snored in her sleep.

I attempted to let spring lull me back to sleep, but I was as rested as my body would allow. Quickly becoming bored, I ventured with my bucket out to the living room. I grabbed a season DVD set of a TV show and popped the first disc into the combo DVD/VCR my mother still had.

Curled up on the couch, cuddling my bucket like a plastic mock teddy bear, I started the series. A simple theme and title plate later, the chorus of a laugh track added to Nature's music outside. At the sound of new voices, my dog shifted on my bed, jingling her tags before resettling and snoring once more. I spent nearly an hour on the couch, letting '90s sitcom glory whisk me away from sleepless fatigue and an uneasy stomach. The laughing helped, but it was largely the mind-over-matter tactic of escapism and distraction. Even if it was just a TV placebo, I was feeling better.

With about five minutes left in the episode the screen abruptly changed. I was greeted by the over-the-top melodrama of an afternoon soap opera. I checked the remote, but it was still on the end stand behind my head as I laid across the couch. I couldn't have changed the channel. I checked it anyway. The station was still set for the combo player. That was the problem; the player had turned off.

I begrudgingly got up to check the wiring. It was fine, and the disc was free of scratches. I started it back up, and rewound a little to get the set-up of the joke again. I then placed the DVD remote back on the end table. Staring at it a moment, I shifted it to the back corner of the table, as far away from me as possible as I laid back down on the couch. I wanted to make sure I couldn't accidentally bump it.

I settled back in to watch my placebo medicine. The episode ended, and the opening of the next one started before I was bombarded by a loud cartoon I didn't even realize was on TV any longer. I got up again, sighing and heaving the blanket off me to check the player once more.

Nothing was wrong with the player. In fact, the power light was still on. That was when I noted the time: 1:17, clearly not a time where a new show would begin. The soap opera should have been on still. I checked the channel, I was on the right one. Why wasn't I seeing my sitcom or the cheesy soap opera then? I checked the player once more, concerned about the power light.

The readout below the VCR half was ticking away: four minutes, now five. Curious, I pressed pause, and the vibrant cartoon halted. I pressed play, and it started up again. Once I pressed stop the soap opera returned. Confused about how it happened, but satisfied that I at least knew what had happened, I returned to the couch, tucked myself back in, and once more started up my show.

The player behaved itself just long enough for me to get off-edge and snuggle deep under my blanket. Then the cartoon interrupted. Frustrated, I stomped over to the dual-player and ejected the VHS. It was an old blank tape that must have been used to record the annoying nonsense a few years back. Either my sister recently had a bout of nostalgia, or we hadn't used the VCR half of the player in quite some time.

Confident that the interruptions were done, I cautiously gave my show one last chance. I sat up this time as I noted where I placed the TV and DVD remotes, as well as noted what could be around them to effect the player. I paid the remotes and player more attention than the actual episode.

As the show faded for the scheduled commercial breaks the sound stopped. The show didn't return a second later. The noise from the last joke didn't linger. Then I noticed that my dog wasn't snoring any longer. The birds weren't communicating. The wind was still. The neighbor dogs had nothing exciting them. Even the sun was muted as a thick cloud hung in the sky.

I switched the channel. A commercial played silently. I laughed nervously as I noticed the mute icon in the corner. I unmuted the TV and was relieved to hear a theatrical swing band promote a clothing line. I switched back to the DVD, but still was on my commercial break. Assuming I somehow hit the pause button, I pushed play. Still, my show was a black screen. I then heard a faint tick, and noticed the timer under the VCR moving, even without a tape to play.

I called for my dog, and she jogged into the room. She didn't come to me, though. She trotted across the living room, and stopped just to the side of the front door. I patted for her to join me on the couch. She stood to comply, but shook her full body before sitting down again.

I'm not sure why, but my eyes drifted up the wall from where my dog was fixated. My mom had converted the top shelf of our key rack into a shrine to my deceased father, complete with an electric candle that is always lit in remembrance. The light was flickering.

"Hey, Dad." I smiled and shook my head. "I'm alright, you don't have to look over me."

The flame-shaped bulb grew bright and steady. My dog barked and leapt beside me on the couch. The leaves again rustled as the wind pushed back the cloud curtain. A dog bark a few houses down started some birds into a chattering frenzy as they relocated into another tree.

The timer on the VCR half stopped and dimmed. My show returned from commercial. As I snuggled my dog and left my bucket forgotten on the floor, I remembered how much my dad had loved getting this DVD set for Christmas.

365 Stories: 2017

As a gift this year, I received "A Writer's Book of Days" by Judy Reeves. Along with advice, the book includes a different writing prompt for each day of the year (including Leap Day). You're supposed to just let the story flow from you; not think about it. Just grab the first image you see, and write it; see what comes out. This is a collection of my writings using those prompts.

* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * 
January 9: "The Sound of Silence"


I was stuck on this one for a few days. I then listened to the Simon & Garfunkle song, as well as the Disturbed cover, that the prompt came from. I listened to the songs on repeat, staring at the lyrics, trying to shake something loose. I then got a wave of inspiration that this story should be about my dad somehow. I just pictured him sitting in his little corner of the living room, facing the DVD player, with his set of headphones on since he and my mom had completely different tastes in music, and rocking out with his own private air band.

Yet the story that came out wasn't about him while he was alive. I used some creative license with this story to add a bit more flair to it - such as the complete silence of everything; including the sun - but this story is otherwise true. It was a year or two after he lost his battle with cancer. I was home sick and trying to watch TV. Then the VCR/DVD combo player started acting up. In reality, though, I was trying to watch a show on TV, then a VHS started playing. I turned the player off. It turned back on and started playing again. I thought it might have been set up to record a show, but it was just playing the VHS, not recording, so I took the tape out and turned the player off a second time. The third time it kicked back on, playing static since nothing was actually in the player, I finally caved, acknowledged my father's presence, and the player stopped acting up, allowing me to keep watching my show.

It wasn't until after I was done writing, after I was done deciding just on the prompt alone that I wanted to talk about my father, that I noticed what date the prompt was for: January 9th, the day my father passed away. It's been 19 years, and it did my heart well to think of him as I worked on this prompt.
© 2017 - 2024 LycoRogue
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