Chapter One
Dust clouded up and paraded into the dim lights of the attic. I picked up a picture of Jonah and I. I disgusted that picture of him kissing my cheek so much I put it in the attic. Purposely. That must mean I hate it a lot. That must mean I hate him a lot.
The second day of summer vacation spent cleaning the attic, you must be thinking right now. What a pathetic life seventeen year old Mia has. Ask my mom. She’s the one that’s torturing me on this one.
Sunlight poured through the small window. That reminds me, I broke a window before. To be exact, eleven windows. Which is why I’m cleaning the attic right now. I broke eleven windows of the library. Not my proudest moment.
I was drunk. And yes, I’m not twenty one yet, so I’m not allowed to drink. But I got a fake ID. Also not my proudest moment. But I figured, pretty much everyone else had one, so I would just get one to not be considered weird. So I did.
Of course, dad cut the fake ID into hundreds of little pieces and scattered them into different garbage cans around the house.
I heard thumping coming up the ladder that lead to the attic. Mom. I can always tell if it’s my mom or dad coming up the stairs or the ladder.
“Aww, don’t look at that,” Mom said with a sorry look in her eyes. I realized I was still holding the picture of Jonah and I.
“Here’s some coke. It’s good for broken hearts,” She smiled as she handed me the red can fresh from the fridge.
“Mom, please.” I rolled my eyes. “I’m already cleaning this shitty attic for you. Don’t even try to mend my ‘broken heart’.” I sipped my coke.
“Language, lady. No curse words.” She yelled from down the ladder. I turned around to find the first object I would clean: The broken TV.
The screen was crashed leaving a big hole. Inside the hole, a light was being projected. It wasn’t from the sun. It was coming from the TV. But it was broken. Or so I thought.
A white canvas spread through my eyes. White was all I could see. My body felt like it was being sucked into nothing. “Dying! DYING! Dead! Girl dying! Dying!”
No response. I had lost faith in humanity long ago, but at least when someone’s screaming “dying” you would stop and try to help.
YOU ARE READING
The Broken TV
Teen FictionMia's seventeen. She's about to clean the attic on the second day of summer. Mostly because of her parents. And the eleven windows she broke when she was drunk. She was going to swipe the dust off the broken TV that's sat there for years, but she's...
