Skies of crimson kissed the day good-night. The trees bowed as the rain fell. Leaves twisted in the air, screaming that winter was coming. Lights flashed, chasing the darkness away, but still some corners remained cold, caged with fear and with what goes bump in the deepest, darkest of night. And my door slammed shut as the television exploded into reality, breaking it into oblivion, and I melted away.
Books cluttered the coffee table. Aesop’s Fables, Disney tales, and grim, Grimm stories of legends better not to be forgotten waited to be read, but the pages were blank. Only the covers portrayed what should have lied within. Now, those lives, those stories are the rivers pouring from my television set, stealing me softly into Once Upon A Time, and I cannot break away. I am held captive to the beauty and wonder of imagination, poetry in motion, but stories dipped in black, monsters hungry for blood, and curses to break love apart. I cannot turn away, thrilled and chilled by the wicked queen, and mesmerized with a young cop soon to become another legend, another page in his book to be written. And no more do I stare at the books cluttered on the coffee table, but do I hold my heart in hand and breathe through the pages of stories now brought to life.
Sirens flashed by, nearly reeling me back into reality. I blinked. The world vanished, and the television remained. Blue Blood heroes, Hawaii’s Five-0 warriors, and the steel and lace of NCIS: Los Angeles was all that I needed. Threats crept fear up my spine, but their strength and courage ignited hope. I leaned closer, watching their eyes, the windows to their soul, seeing their determination, dedication, and devotion. I needed nothing else, and the world did not matter. Another hour or two. What was time anyway?
Morning called. The same old, damn routine. The 5:30 a.m. wake up scream from an alarm clock that I would like to throw against the wall. Sleep was cruel, leaving me before the time to rise, and I would remain in shadow, thinking, half asleep. My mind would return to the company that I keep, old friends like WB, FX, USA, and SYFY, and I smiled. Another day, another dollar, but I would come home to you to take my worry and boredom away. Bring me back into the land of dreams, ignite my heart and mind, and be the fuel to my soul. Oh, what I need are a few good men like the Winchester boys to go on monster patrol or a few things to go bump in the night, falling ever so gently into the arms of the Sanctuary.
And now the moon said good-night. Rain tapped against my window. Reality stole across the room, reminding me that it would soon be time to wake up. Wake up in a mundane world, where we take our fill of gossip and mindless antics of those better not seen on television, but we all want to be a star. And some stages are well-deserved, but I wait in the wings. For now, I rest beneath the covers and under a cat, who uses me as a pillow, and I dream, dream of worlds beyond my own, Terra Nova, Big Brother watching, Person of Interest, and those loved but never to be lost, remembered for all that they are in A Gifted Man. And the television set fades to black.
