text: The Television. The Television is gone. I could have sworn it was here just a few minutes ago. (Make sense of it) It's weirdly uncomfortable without the TV set. It doesn't feel right, nothing has felt right lately. Like as I stand here, I feel that funny feeling when you believe you've been there, done that before. Do you ever get That? (Sit down. Make it stop) We're not used to sitting in silence like this; for this long. It's agonising. (Do something) There's nothing to do now the television is missing, except to stare at the once occupied space in which the Television filled with sound and light and life that spanned the room. Now, a barren, cold enclosure with archaic yet universally familiar wallpaper that lays loose on the walls and folds or tears sporadically. It's rustic and homely though, ripe with sentiment and rich domestic attitudes about it. It seems perfect But it isn't the same now without enthusiasm. The television usually does that. It filled the silence with sound, giving us something to listen to if not each other. It used to fill the darkness with light, providing an excuse to pay attention to anything at all. It makes a great conversation starter, our source of anticipation, passion and liveliness but what now? (Say something. She's waiting) I looked to where she's sitting...She isn't here either. Much like our TV set, Zapped from existence before I could ever get the chance to say goodbye. (Find her) I sometimes forget that she's gone. I'd like to believe she's just outside, watering the plants or, in our bedroom reading a book to give any excuse for her absence except for what is true. At Least there's an explanation for that. But this? The sudden disappearance of our television is wildly uncanny and unpredictable in such a way that unsettles me. (Remind yourself) We used to gather around to watch the cricket, I'm not sure she enjoyed it. As much as I did at least but the company was what mattered the most to both of us. We'd watch the firework display when the clock struck 12 on new years eve. Or when the queen would deliver her speech on Christmas day. (You're alone) It dawns on me every time I remember, she must live in the clouds, always watching down on me. I bet she'll be so disappointed. I'm like a Lost, lonely lab rat in an experiment to find exactly "what would happen if we took everything away from it, one by one until it had nothing left" maybe that would explain why on earth the television has left me so suddenly too. To prove them right. But I have nothing now. When will the experiment end? Does it end? Am I just as disposable as our TV? And, "Why me?" My voice echoed through the room. It startled me a bit. I haven't heard my own voice in a while. I haven't had a reason to speak. I have no one to speak to so all of my thoughts and feelings remain, bottled up inside my head, often clashing or escaping me. I don't remember much nowadays either, almost as if my brain has exiled all of my memories for the only thing that matters to me. (Bring her back) We created so many memories together, for What? I can't remember most of them for the life of me and she, herself, is now just a memory. My only memory. The only thing to support the notion that I have a history. The very miniscule idea that I've had a life outside the present. Outside of this cursed room...