Transmission
by Ryan Griffith
When I was a kid, I once pried open the back of an old TV we kept in the garage. Inside, it was like the guts of an angel. Rainbows of braided wires and rows of tiny glass tear drops. I wanted to crawl inside and seal myself into all that beauty, just curl up and become part of the picture. I imagined my parents selling the TV to a young family who turned it on to find the blue image of me sleeping inside, like the ultrasound of a foetus. They popped popcorn and slurped cola, watching me shift in sleep and murmur in my dreams.
Ryan Griffith lives in California.