When my soul leaves my body to be on TV, I am crushed. I want to cry, but then there I am, all small and doe-eyed and brightly dressed inside that box, and I’m easily comforted by the TV version of myself. I sit and watch, because my soul turns out to be very good [...]
When my soul leaves my body to be on TV, I am crushed. I want to cry, but then there I am, all small and doe-eyed and brightly dressed inside that box, and I’m easily comforted by the TV version of myself. I sit and watch, because my soul turns out to be very good on TV. He parades into a soap opera scene and always gets the girl. He wins intellectual game shows while retaining a sense of charm and affability. He comes off respectably on reality shows, hardly a caricature of himself.
By the time I see him, in white coat and stethoscope, performing life-saving measures on a young child, his altruism is boring. Then there’s static. I change the channel and see my soul beating an elderly woman before stealing her purse. I change again, and here he is cursing at a cop while trying to walk in a straight line. I don’t like reruns, so I change again.
Samantha Duncan’s work has appeared in Six Sentences and The Indite Circle. She lives in Georgia.
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I was fascinated by this piece. It’s such an intriguing concept.