Mr. Sollis woke up wiping the grit from his eyes. He looked down at the expansive map of his hands and sighed, feeling his old age weigh down heavily upon his broad shoulders.

Nancy always told him he’d live forever. He was practically immortal, iron man in the flesh. But look at me now, he thought with frightening clarity, I’m nothing more than an hourglass that’s beginning to crack. Just look at all the sand spilling out of me...

Depressed and tired of self pity, Mr. Sollis turned on the TV just to let his mind drift in a pool of nothingness. He didn’t want to think about anything, let alone his own existence. He simply wanted to be and nothing more.


Black static.

A cascade of virtual insects crawling all over the screen.

An electric scream rattled the bones of the old man slumped in the chair.

He is oblivious to the sounds, the subtle cries emanating from the raging TV screen.


Mr. Sollis woke up startled by the incredibly loud static. The screen was a chaotic mix of black and white dots converging and splitting.

In the chaos, images began to take shape and form. With time, the shapes became clearer. The black and white coalesced in the form of a curvy woman. Almost a silhouette, yet more defined, more lively.

He felt an old, familiar stirring. However, this unwelcome feeling disturbed him greatly.

Mr. Sollis frantically searched for the greasy remote control. He picked it up and pressed the off button, but his hand slipped off at the last moment. With a sense of urgency, he poked the button again and again till the blasted static shut off shrouding the room in silence.

He stared at his reflection in the black screen. Drops of sweat rolled down his forehead. This was getting to be too much, he thought. So he headed in the kitchen and popped a few pills. Who knows what purpose they served? His eyesight was too poor to read the labels. All he knew was that they would take the pain away and that was all he needed.
Black static reigned over the house creeping in and out of every floorboard, caressing every surface, crackling into the master bedroom.
The old man on the bed, snored loudly in his slumber shifting his position every few minutes to get more comfortable.

She touched the gray tufts on his liver spotted head, remembering the old days. The days when she was more than this.

She sighed, leaking static all over the carpet. The room surged with energy and darkened with depression.

The man’s forehead wrinkled. She wondered what he felt right now, the things he saw. The pain he felt inside this world and others. It was so easy to relate.

She caressed his forehead, thinking good thoughts, hoping his dreams would improve and blossom into black petals in the night.

Then a thought occurred and she made that thought become reality as she gently embraced her old lover. The room darkened and faded to black leaving behind the faint scent of lilies.

"Black Static, How Lovely the Sound"
Copyright: © 2010 Grant Wamack
Grant Wamack writes weird fiction and has been published in Nemonymous 8, Polluto #2, and 365 Tomorrows.