Welcome to Flash Fiction Friday and the one hundred and forty-first piece in this series. This week’s is a 257-worder by new guest contributor Isaac Birchmier. This story will be podcasted in episode 42 (with two other stories and some 6-worders) on Sunday 27th July.
The Cathode Ray Tube Television © Isaac Birchmier
Images flashed and flitted in her eyes. Dull wavelengths of colors danced overhead—tinges of blackened neon—and the scope of the universe seemed to her to exist only in those flitting stripes of color. She couldn’t imagine a world where the colors surrounding her fit comfortably within the lines—everything was just contained so perfectly outside of its object. For instance, the table that chilled the soles of her bare feet was just an average table to the observer, but to her it was perpetually superimposed with a filmstrip of black and white. Beyond the desk, blotted like paint on a canvas, were its colors: the reds of the paint from the tabletop; the browns of the table’s wooden legs; the silver of the screws that held the pieces together, that kept the table from falling apart. It was only after some time that the colors finally decided to leave. The specks of silver were the first ones gone; they scuttled lethargically, slowly moving beyond her periphery. Then went the browns, soaking into the floorboards. Then the reds. And her world was colorless. She was delighted that the flashing and flitting colors had finally concluded their blinding dance. All that remained were the shaded static flickers of white noise. A white screen stood in her eyes and black specks leapt tick-like, disappearing and reappearing with increasing rapidity. A noise reverberated through her skull, as if she were inside a giant oil drum. She smiled and stepped forward to shut the program off. Her feet were weightless.
I asked Isaac what prompted this piece and he said…