Static
By StarWolf
6/25/2004
Title:
StaticAuthor: StarWolf (elendraug at yahoo.com)
Fandom: Jimmy Neutron
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Angst
Pairing: None
Warnings: language, violence
Disclaimer: Nickelodeon's, not mine. I'm not clever enough to create such brilliance.
Distribution: Don't put it anywhere.
Summary: Adj. characterised by a lack of movement or change
Authoress' Notes: I love warping harmless stuff.
No one takes him seriously anymore.
Sheen presses buttons on a remote, and the results aren't spectacular. Nothing shrinks, nothing blows up, nothing glows green with radiation -- the television shows a different channel, the volume's quite a bit louder, and he wants to be frustrated with someone other than himself. One of these days he's going to lose his hearing, and part of him thinks that it might bring some relief. The only thing he hears is static.
Cartoons, soap operas, game networks, "reality" shows -- there's anything and everything and nothing to watch. Click, click, click. Useless. Incessant commercials are grating on his nerves. Button. Press. Click. The TV goes dark, and he's grateful.
If this particular Thursday afternoon was like most previous ones, he'd be rambling about insignificant things while his friends pretended to pay attention. It wouldn't matter where, or when or why or how -- the "what" was always a given. He guesses that he's finally pushed his luck too far, and they're not willing to put up with his obsessive behaviour.
No one listens to him anymore.
Being ignored isn't a pleasant feeling. Jimmy's always polite (tolerant), and Carl's always kind (naïve), and Cindy and Libby and everyone else never cared in the first place. What was it, then? Friendship out of pity? Guilt? He bites his tongue and tastes copper. It's absolutely maddening: everything he's known has been a lie.
He's spent half his life in front of the boob tube, but breasts are the least of his worries. Cheap thrill, momentary occupation, mindless distraction; this is what he's been a slave to?
Loathing, both of himself and the seemingly innocuous appliance.
No one loves him anymore, and it's all because of this fucking piece of shit!
He throws the control (along with his) out the window. He yanks the plug from the wall, he snaps the antenna. He kicks his foot through the screen, ignores the blood dribbling from the gashes around his ankle, and thinks, All these years, I've been sitting too close to the TV.