Through the innervation of my pointer finger, I knew that I should pull my hand away from the electronic device. I couldn't take my eyes off the screen, however, and my finger wanted to manipulate the thing in some meaningful way. I was looking through the owner's gallery photos, saved for all this time. The memory from the thing had not been erased, but without wireless, the digital device was more perplexing than useful. The photos were sentimental. They weren't useful for identifying the wretch who had lost it.
After scrolling through all the photos, and then going back to look at them again, scanning with my eyes to find the location in each scene that I could have easily photoshopped myself in, I built up the courage to look through the person's files. I wanted to play a game; even something as simple as solitaire would have allowed me a feeling I had not felt in so many years. But this person favored presentations and music more than games. And they had poor taste in musicians.
So I was trying to open up a presentation file, simply titled "Anatomy." It was a powerpoint file. But I couldn't see a preview of it. Selecting the file only opened up a viewing program with a pesky dialogue window: "Application is Busy." This would persist for a while, before the dialogue window would change what it read to: "Application is up to date."
Then it would close. I kept pressing. Darien would have to recharge it for me. I kept tapping. I wanted to tap until the friction caused the screen to form a divot. I wanted to keep percussing its smooth surface until my finger developed a blood blister and then burst all over the evil reminder of what I once had.
No comments:
Post a Comment