TV Room by James Rumpel
Artificus opened the door and escorted Steven Cowski into a small room.
“And this will be your quarters,” announced Artificus. The elderly gentleman was dressed in flowing white robes and carried a wooden clipboard.
Steven surveyed the sparsely decorated chamber. The windowless room was nothing more than a ten-foot by ten-foot square. The walls were painted a light beige. The only piece of furniture was a vinyl recliner sitting in the center, facing the room’s only other feature, a seventy-inch flat screen television mounted on the wall.
“The room’s not very big,” said Steven.
“Well,” explained Artificus, “a lot of people have died since the dawn of time. It’s getting kind of crowded in the afterlife. But I think these accommodations will be perfect for you. Take a seat.”
“I suppose I could do worse than sitting in a comfy chair watching TV all the time. God knows that’s what I wanted to do every weekend for the last twenty years.”
“I’m sure he does,” laughed Artificus.
Steven plopped down in the recliner and pulled the handle. The chair tilted back and a comfortable footrest shot up from the bottom.
“This is nice,” said Steven. He glanced up at the television set. “So, what do you have here, cable or satellite?”
“Even better,” replied his host. “You have a collection of channels selected personally for you.” He handed Steven a silver remote.
Steven hit the power button and the TV sprang to life. A message appeared, “STEVEN COWSKI PROGRAMMING LOADING”
“Are you comfortable?” asked Artificus. “Can I get you anything?”
“I suppose I could go for something to drink,” answered Steven. “A beer or soda would be nice.”
“I’m sorry, all I have right now is water.”
“Really. I thought this place was flowing with milk and honey.” Steven chuckled at his own joke.
Artificus handed Steven a small paper cup. “I’m afraid this will have to do for now.”
The television finally finished loading. To Steven’s surprise and dismay there were only four channels displayed in the guide.
“That can’t be right. There have to be more channels than that.”
“Oh, trust me,” said the old man, “that is all you’re going to need.”
Steven looked at the first choice and hit enter. “At least there’s a sports channel?”
A football game flashed onto the screen.
“I know this game,” said Steven. “It must be a replay. This is last season’s playoff game. My team lost even though they were heavily favored. It was the worst game I ever watched. And I lost almost five hundred dollars on it. I’m not going to watch that.” He tapped the remote’s GUIDE button and the four choices reappeared.
“What are these other channels?” asked Steven. “They have the names of my wife and kids.”
Artificus smiled. “That’s the best part. You can watch your family members. You get to observe everything they do. You get to see how their lives turn out.”
“Really? Isn’t that kind of like spying?”
“You’re not spying. You’re dead. All you are doing is seeing how everything turns out for your wife and offspring.”
Steven selected his wife’s channel. He sighed and held back a tear when her image materialized on the screen. She was sitting at the kitchen table with her laptop. The camera angle moved to a position behind her, revealing that she was looking at cocktail dresses on Amazon.
“What does she need a new dress for?” asked Steven.
“I don’t know,” answered Artificus. “If you use the fast-forward button you can move ahead and see.”
Curiosity won the moment and Steven clicked the button that sent the action on the screen rapidly forward. He hit the button again when he saw his wife wearing a fancy new outfit. She was putting on diamond earrings when the doorbell rang. With a huge smile on her face, she raced to the front door and greeted her guest with a tender embrace.
Again, the camera angle adjusted to give Steven a clear view of the new arrival.
“Hey, that’s Bob Harwell, from work.” Steven could feel the heat forming in his cheeks. He never liked Bob.
“They seem to get along rather well,” commented Artificus.
Steven’s hands were shaking. He forced himself to take a deep breath and slowly exhaled. “It’s fine,” he said. “She deserves to go on with her life. It’s okay if after a while she was lonely.”
Artificus snorted.
“What’s so funny?”
The old man pointed to the screen. “Look at the time stamp in the corner. You only fast-forwarded a week and a half.”
Steven punched the GUIDE button on the remote and the image disappeared. He chugged the tiny glass of water he had been holding, crushed the paper cup, and tossed it across the room. Was it his imagination or were the walls a much darker color than they had been earlier?
“Sorry about that,” said Artificus. “At least you can watch your kids and see what they do with their lives.”
“That’s true. I can enjoy their accomplishments and milestones.” Steven selected the Daniel Cowski channel.
Daniel’s image filled the screen.
“What’s he doing?” asked Steven. “Is he playing video games? In our basement!”
“Don’t forget you can fast-forward.”
“That’s true.” Steven pressed the fast-forward button and watched as days and weeks flew by. With the rare exceptions of occasional trips to fast-food restaurants, the locale remained the same. Daniel spent almost all of his time in his mother’s basement, playing video games and sleeping on the couch.
When Steven finally stopped the video from hurdling forward in time, he glanced at the time stamp. It was five years later.
“What the . . .” Steven screamed. “That idiot is going to spend the next five years doing nothing but playing stupid video games!”
“It might be longer,” interjected Artificus, “you can still go further.”
Steven glared at his host. He clenched his fists, squeezing the remote to the point where it felt like it was beginning to crack. His chest pounded; a knot of pain formed around his heart.
The walls of the room were definitely no longer beige. They had a crimson hue.
“Can I have another drink of water?” asked Steven.
“I’m sorry,” came the reply. “You’ve already drunk your quota. Why don’t you check out your daughter’s channel?”
“Yeah, that’s a good idea. Let’s see what Jill’s doing. She’s my little angel. She’ll make me proud.” Steven selected the last available channel.
He barely recognized the black-clad young woman on the television. Jill’s hair, which had been a sweet strawberry blond, was dyed the color of coal. She wore black eye-shadow and ebony lipstick. Tattoos of pentagrams and upside-down crosses ran up and down both her arms. In the fifteen seconds Steven allowed himself to look at this new iteration of his daughter, he counted a dozen piercings on her face.
The pain in Steven’s chest exploded. Agonizing flames of pain shot down his left arm. He pressed the power button on the remote. Nothing happened. He tried to throw the remote at the television but he couldn’t let go. It was stuck to his hand.
The blood-red walls of the room seemed to be closing in on him. He had to get out of this place. He grabbed for the handle of the recliner. It wasn’t there. When he tried to climb out of the chair, he found that his back was stuck to the vinyl upholstery.
“This isn’t right!” he screamed at Artificus. “Heaven isn’t supposed to be like this.”
The corners of Artificus’s mouth turned up, forming an evil smirk. “Oh, come on, Steven. You’re smarter than that. You know this isn’t heaven.”
—
James Rumpel is a retired high school math teacher who has greatly enjoyed using his newfound additional free time to rekindle his love for science fiction and the written word.
