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An Evenings Pleasure.

I did not like the way the man was staring at me. I know I am being silly. I am looking at the television screen it is a family show. But those eyes I asked myself do other people see the eyes staring at them or is it just my imagination. The eyes are so real the deep blue of the iris in the left eye did not match the dark brown of the Iris in the right eye. Now this was definitely not my imagination. The man’s eyes of different colours were upsetting me. I will not say that I was afraid more like apprehensive after all he is only a picture being broadcast at some studio. Why not get up out of my comfortable chair and either switch the television off or change to another station. That would be the sensible thing to do, but me I was in one of those sod you moods. Why should I get up from my comfy chair to get another picture on that stupid screen? Don’t know why I switch it on night after night. All they show is a right load of rubbish. Not fit for an evening’s entertainment, my mind took off on another topic how much would I get for such a television after all it is not very old. I have a radio that is at least fifteen years old why the television must be six years old at least. Who I wonder would buy this piece of rubbish from me. I do not know of anyone that would be daft enough to give me more than a few coppers for it. Then those eyes took on a magic of their own. The man stepped out of my television. He looked me straight in the face. Those different coloured eyes were menacing, I felt my hand reach out grabbing the fifteen-year-old radio and hitting the two coloured eyes right in the middle of its stupid face. The man lay on my floor I hoped that I had not killed him. If he is dead what shall I do with the body? Cannot take it out of the block of flats. What would the neighbours say if they saw me with a dead body in my arms? I sat for a couple of hours staring at the what, I thought was a dead body. Excuse after excuse ran through my poor old head. What would other people do faced with the same situation? Would they call the Police and tell the Police that the man was on the television and had been staring at me. Then if I told them that the body stepped out of the screen and it was his different coloured irises that were so threatening that I hit him with my radio. Would the Police believe me? I think not. Slowly my eyes closed, this evening’s entertainment had obviously been too much for me. I dropped off into a deep sleep. Later I awoke the television screen was showing a milky colour rippling all over the screen. I got up out of my comfortable chair and turned the television off. Suddenly the body came back into my mind. I looked everywhere for that dead body, I could find it nowhere. Now I was really in a quandary how can a dead body vanish?

I sat a little longer wondering what I should do without a body I could not tell anyone about the man with the two different coloured eyes that stepped out of my Television and of thinking that he meant me harm and of my right hand reaching for my old radio and of hitting him in the middle of his face. I decided to make myself a cup of hot sweet tea and one of those biscuits that had a centre of custard cream. All the while the Kettle boiled I was thinking how could the dead man leave my flat. The doors were all locked. I am on the ground floor and none of the heavy shutters had been moved. Could the dead body have managed to get back into the television screen, Did the other actors come and get him. I slowly drank my sweet tea. Then I had this idea, I could tell ym story to Bern the scribbler he could put it on Twitter and Face book using the computer program WWW. Postpoems.org that would tell many people about what I had gone through in my evening’s entertainment. I myself Bern believe his story it is one of those stories that one either believes or not. I believe him Bern. Your scribbler.