The Black Box

I returned to the empty apartment after my morning shift to find it dim and empty. A small black box sat in the corner of the kitchen. Leads trailed from it into the wall. There were vents along the top, a row of five lights on one side and a switch on the back. Where had this mysterious box come from? I opened a beer and sat staring at the box. In its presence time seemed distorted, sucked in and compressed. I stared and drank.

A cat wailed in the parking lot below. I took a slug from the beer and reached towards the box to flick its switch. It offered little resistance. There was a sudden flash like the return of a thousand distant memories and a sound which can only be transcribed as “fo’shizzle!” I was transported to a land of burning phosphor. I heard languages and music of many nations. I saw footballers punching the air, armies marching, face after face after face. I felt the presence of all the people I’d ever known edging inches closer.

For ever, it seemed, I whirled in distraction, watching the pictures, hearing the soundbytes, sucking it in greedily like an endless milkshake. And all of a sudden I was sated. In the blink of an eye I was back in the kitchen with an empty beer bottle in my hand? Where had I been? Would I ever go back there again? I hoped so.

We got broadband internet, DSL, call it what you will. It’s here, it’s turned on, and I’m connected again. Hurrah!