Television Violence
by Bill Wilson

The television set bathed Billy’s 12-year-old face in flickering gray light as he brooded. He had practiced all day, and tonight he would have his revenge.

Billy had been trapped in the tiny cell for over a year now, ever since custody of him was awarded to his aunt. At first the old lady seemed okay. But then came the argument over television. With it began his sentence in this hellhole.

It was a Sunday night just a little over twelve months ago, and Billy wanted to watch a show on the Fox Network, "The Simpsons." His aunt refused to allow it. She only watched "good, old-fashioned shows she taped years ago" since she felt that all television made after 1970 was Satanic.

He thought she was asleep later that evening, when he snuck down to the family room in the basement to watch the program anyway. The opening credits had just begun when the heavy rolling pin collided with his skull from behind.

When he awoke, he found himself locked in the cell. She later informed him that he must be cleansed of the "evils of modern TV". This could only be accomplished by keeping him imprisoned for the remainder of his life, while she kept the ancient set running constantly, feeding him an endless visual diet of old classics like "I Love Lucy", "The Beverly Hillbillies", "Dragnet", and, when she really wanted to punish him, "Gomer Pyle, USMC."

But he had been practicing with the marbles she had let him have, and it would all end tonight…

"Billy!", she cried from the top of the stairs as she began her descent. "I’m on my way down, son! I have a surprise for you: just got a new collection of "Father Knows Best" shows from the mail-order catalogue. We’ll watch them tonight!"

"Okay, auntie", came his meek reply.

He watched her navigate the ancient stairwell. When she was three steps down, she stepped on the marble he had tossed there earlier that day. She tumbled downwards. As her body slammed into the cell bars moments later, Billy glimpsed the key chain hanging from her waist.

Moments later, he was free.

He bent over her, and heard her still breathing. Her eyes opened, and she mumbled something incomprehensible.

Before ascending the staircase and calling 911, Billy helped his dear old aunt into her comfy chair in front of the TV set.

Then he turned it on, set the controls, and started up the stairs.

Moments later he heard a squeaky, boyish voice say "Hey, don’t have a cow, man." It was accompanied by a scream from his aunt’s cracked and bleeding lips.

Billy smiled a thin smile, and kept climbing the stairs.

©2002 Bill Wilson

Bill Wilson is 36 years old, call Athens GA his home, and has had fiction published in various electronic and print pubs, including The Murder Hole, The Nocturnal Lyric, The Haunted, The Blue Lady, and two stories will be in the Halloween issue of the print mag Black Petals. His non-fiction book, Build a Catapult in Your Backyard, was published last year by Loompanics Unlimited (www.loompanics.com). Besides books and writing, Bill enjoys camping, working on old cars, intelligent conversation and Jazz.