Lullaby
By Kaitlyn McGregor
Staff Writer
Colours and characters dance across the screen, captivating the mind of a young girl. Optimistic and naive, she wonders if she stood close enough to the television, whether she might fall into their vivid world. The hypothesis must be tested; the frail child gets up slowly. She would run and jump into her hopeful portal, but her muscles will not allow it, too stiff from the hours sitting in front of the fascinating contraption. One step, pins and needles down her legs… two steps, aching back… three steps, almost touching it… four, her breath fogs the glass… The knock at the door echoes through the house, interrupting her quest.
“Mildred! Be good and answer the door!”
She dives onto the floor at the remote. The dancing characters vanish as does her optimism, with the click of one button. She races to put everything in its proper place, untouched.
“Mildred, why are we taking so long?” He singsongs to a frightened tune. She can hear her heart beating louder and faster, she finally remembers to breathe. Scrambling out of the den to the door, she finds herself too late. She watches the lock turn, the door handle follows. A man in a crisp suit enters, looming over Mildred.
“Hello father, I’m s-sorry. I was upstairs, doing my schoolwork,” she pleads. “I will try to make sure it never happens again.”
He smiles over her, handing off his worn leather briefcase and jacket for her to put away.
“Your work certainly couldn’t be as important as your father, could it?”
She shakes her head side to side.
“Good, I’m glad we have an understanding. Back up to work now.”
He puts a hand on the side of her head gently and uses it to push her towards the staircase on her left. She catches herself on the railing, as he moves past her to get to the den. She lays his things in the closet by the door and begins her trudge upstairs.
Her father thought television was too special for Mildred, “an eight-year-old can’t have earned that privilege, she’s barely a person,” he would explain to her mother. Mildred had thought frequently about her mother in these past weeks; she did not like to remember. She would always remember walking into her parents’ room that night, tripping on that empty pill bottle, one of thousands she assumed. Mildred could never quite understand how too many Night Capsules could have made her mother sleep forever.
It is close to two in the morning when she finally hears her father’s snore. With him asleep, she is safe to completely test her theory… Could she join her friends in the television?
She creeps down the stairs, avoiding the creaky step. She makes her way into the living room carefully to ensure she does not bump into anything in the dark. Her hand glides over the table until it hits the remote. One button and it’s all back: her friends, the colours, the hope. One step, trembling in her chest… two, she smells the fresh cut grass they dance on… three, so close… four, foggy glass… five, her head smashes against the glass. No no no no no no! It can’t be! I can do it! This time, she rears back her head and Ow ow ow ow ow. Her head pounds, blood rushing to her forehead. I need this.
With a running start, she cracks the glass. Her limp body ricochets back onto the floor.
She gasps for air on the carpeted floor, blood dripping into her hairline. Mildred turns and observes the screen, watching the distorted versions of her favourite characters. Against her body’s will, her cheeks pull a smile.
Haha! God, they’re funny!