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Gin. The cold glass stood below him, mirroring his frown. Gray, offputting; he stood out in the fulgent light. That cacophony — the high - pitched bells played repetitively, old synth grating to his ear, and a voice. Tenna heard his chattering from here, talking about the latest cars. He sat next to him, scatting a tune. His voice triumphantly flew over worlds. An earworm tucking your eardrums in bed. Ah, that’s it. TV time anthem, their anthem. They walked on red carpets and saw the world come together for a listen.
Tenna looked directly at the camera, holding up his gin. The man clanked his drink back, showing off his pearly whites. He swayed a bottle of rummy with flustered cheeks. The city behind him sparks blue, creating a spark of electricity. Tenna curled his body towards the man, embracing him. And he took a shot.
The gun went off. Horses galloped, racing to the finish line. Tenna watched as the man hollered and pumped his fist. His teeth, janky and covered in mold. His horse had the lead; it reached the white line. Grass crunches under Tenna’s feet as he throws the football to his partner. Fighting for the big league and making it to the touchdown.
He made it.
Tenna glanced at the setting sun for the last time, riding away to a salon. He sees his partner playing gin rummy with a man. With every flip, his skin shredded like pale wood.
“Are you alright, luv?”
“Huh?” Tenna shook his head and took a shot. “Never been better!” He brushed the white powder around his nose.
“You sure? You have been staring at that cup for a while.”
“You know, you should mind your beeswax. I said what I said. I’m fine!” Tenna lashed out. He looked behind him to see if anyone was there. Ramb kept quiet. “Wow, that was weird, right, folks?” Taking another shot.
“What are we supposed to do with the couch, Mr. Tenna?” A torn cushion crumbled behind Tenna, swooned by sharp claws. Its cotton poked out, infecting its surroundings. Besides, it was a couch good as new, not reflecting any flaws. Blending into the green room’s perfect appearance, something Tenna always wanted. He couldn’t answer Ramb and take another shot of his gin. Tenna stiffened his shoulder, tapping his finger on the bar table.
“You know, it’s funny. I kind of like the new look; it gives this room something.” He gloom down in his seat. “New.”
“I’ve heard guest complaints about the filling.”
“Well then, fine! I can fix it, cause no one around here knows how to do anything.” Tenna spilled his drink on the counter and laughed it off. “That’s rich. Everything is so funny these days. This is why they put me on TV; everyone must love me!”
Ramb side-eyed the spilled gin, ignoring Tenna’s blather. Tenna slammed his hand, clawing his fingers in. Creating a cacophony.
“Do you disagree?” Tenna said while shaking. His screen turned dark; the same scene played though. A hand on a phone, fathering Tenna view from him. Footsteps left traces of bloody footprints. He ran through Tenna’s head, gluing him to the creaking floors.
“No–”
“DANMIT JUST BE HONEST WITH ME!” Tenna punched his fist into the cup. Glass shattered between them. Slitting through his gloves, stuck onto his robotic parts. Ramb stared at him with a sickening expression. He too was pale. Tenna pulled his hand away, horrified by his emotions. His body moved on its own. Something is clearly controlling him, he thought. Tenna stumbled over his words, his vision disconnected. He sees his eyes in him, a look of fear he can’t describe.
Tenna ran. His body rushed to the other room, redder than his suit. He sped through images of himself — Gold statues from countless awards; him talking pompously during interviews; ads of his merch with someone unfamiliar. Crowds of monsters grabbed onto Tenna’s leg, praying for his downfall. He spiraled through each room, shrinking in the world he made.
Tenna raced to the spotlight, but it kept running from him. He pulled his body towards it, close to catching its shine. It dimmed from Tenna’s sight, his hand still in the air. The room roared with laughter, tugging on Tenna’s strings. He crumbled into a ball, searching for an exit. Darkness lured above him, feeling it strangulate into a twisted form. Its heavy breath lures the CRT down, mumbling unwanted thoughts. He left it behind and ran to the kitchen.
Tenna witnessed love. Elnina and Lanino suffocated each other with kisses and words of affirmation. His heart dropped to his shoes; he forced itself to rise.
“Fancy meeting you lovebirds,” Tenna played into an act.
“Mr. Tenna, we were not expecting you here,” Lanino said as he fixed his hair.
“We are not slacking off; we’re on commercial break,” Added Elnina. Tenna twitched at that word.
“Who needs advertisements anyway, haha?” Tenna laughed to himself; it filled the room with dread. He bounced his foot, waiting for a response.
“Silly, silly me. I’m not here to invade your space. But I have to ask, do people enjoy TV?”
“Huh?” they both said.
“Do they love TV? Do you two love TV?”
“Goodness, he’s drunk again.” Elnina whispered to Lanino.
“Why are you ignoring me? This is a workplace order! Do you love TV?” They flinched at Tenna’s commands.
“Yes, of course.”
“We love TV.”
“Prove it to me.” His words stung.
“Boss gets some rest–”
Tenna’s knees fell to the ground. He tensed his face while looking up at the couple, trembling his lips. He held onto Lanino’s legs and shook him.
“PROVE IT! PROVE–” Tenna slid his hand off his slacks. He wailed nonsense at them, begging for their forgiveness. Tenna hurled insults at himself. Coughing up his feelings, scratching marks on the floor. Replaying scenes of the man in his mind. His haughty face, sweat dripping on the handle. The man’s rosy cheeks appeared white. Tenna hollered, echoing throughout the room. All the weather duo could do was stare with remorse, as their words meant nothing to Tenna.
Tenna’s emotions turned static; white noise played on his screen. His antennae throbbed, a ghastly ring. That ring, with one knee to the ground. Tenna’s hands covered him, removing his face from the scene.
“I’m so sorry, I love you–” Tenna retched. “Both. I need to step outside.”
He dragged his feet near the exit. His guts rearranged. Tenna’s voice dried up, tasting a dessert in his mouth. He wished he could wash gin between his gums. Tenna wanders off and ponders how water tastes and what it’s like to live on an island. An advertisement pops up in his mind, making a 25% guarantee deal for a couple. ‘Feels like heaven on your feet,’ he used to say.
Tenna enters a dark room filled with many TVs. Only one of them struck his attention. A heart-shaped island surrounded by sea. Grains of sand converted to pixels, as colorful palm trees sing him songs. He pressed his hand on the screen, feeling the fuzz against his palms.
‘What Cha think? I called it South of the Border. Those lovebugs’ hearts are going to explode!’
‘Ha! You called that romantic? I can tell ya haven’t kissed a hoochie before.’
‘Is that a little harsh?’
‘Ant. Take a joke for once. I loved ya, but it needs work.’
“Nothing was ever good enough for you.” Tenna whined, increasing the pressure on his fingertips. “Do this and do that. When will it be my turn to be big?” He huffs, and his breath fogs the screen. Tenna’s hands radiated, damaging the TV’s circuits. It gave one last glimmer until it malfunctioned. Alone in the dark, surrounded by broken versions of himself.
The cold air hit Tenna when he stepped outside. His shoes scratched in the snow. It doesn’t snow in the dark world, but it comforts him. Reminding of the good times he had with the Dreemers, Christmas Day. Tenna pulled out a lighter and a cigarette. His favorite movie to play was A Christmas Carol; it reminded him of a certain person.
Tenna’s hand shakes, flicking the lighter. He put the cigarette in his mouth and drew from it a flame. Tenna scrunched, he lit up the email guy cigar. Sweet-talking him into signing a contract in the same red room. He smiled crookedly, and Tenna could smell his sweat. Unprofessional, but charming. The email guy quickly signed Tenna’s papers and shook with sweaty palms. He looked down to see his name scribbled in red ink.
“Spamton.” Tenna wails, the cigarette dangling in his fingers. He put the bud near his face, watching its ashes disintegrate. Tenna’s face burned, while snot covered his face. He could hardly speak, communicating with blubbering. Dissociation into his own bubble, Tenna caressed Spamton’s hair, his dye staining on his fingers. Together under thin covers. He lay on top of Tenna, holding the cigar in his mouth. Spamton doesn’t look directly at the city, but above its skyscrapers. He pictured a world where it was just the two of them, overcoming all their obstacles. And finally, achieving his dreams. Spamton tells Tenna about the beach. Blue sky, sunny day, partial clouds. A place where they should hold each other’s hands. He dreamt of the sunlight on his body while lying on Tenna’s head. A similar caress of his hair, listening to the ocean chants. They could smell heaven from here and the sand beneath their feet.
‘Remember never to stop holding my hand,’ Spamton told Tenna. Laughing at his own remark. Tenna comforted him and laughed, telling him to hold on. Surrounded by Tenna’s lower body, Spamton pretended to splash his face with water.
‘Then you would fall and Bam! The tides would erupt.’
Tenna couldn’t breathe; his funny bone was about to fall off. Spamton grabbed him by the wrist and pulled him towards the sea.
When they laugh together, their suffering washes into the seven seas. A paradise. They threw the string into the ocean and watched it swim away. Heavy, compelled in the deep sea. It fell straight to the bottom. With a sign, they became free.
Frozen temperature, reduced water to ice. Tenna melted the snow he stood on, vaporized into the abyss above. He dragged his feet in shallow water to a place no one but himself knew. Fog followed him, brushing the air with white. The wind howled beside it. Snot flew down Tenna’s face and into his suit jacket. He couldn’t feel his hands and legs, but rage inflamed his face. Only to see red.
Tenna spotted something in the snow. He stepped closer, scrambling the silhouette. Tenna put his hand on the top; it felt like metal when he brushed off the snow. It squeaked at him, with pain in its eyes. Tenna propelled his touch and gazed at the machinery.
Spamton’s car has seen better days.
Paint coated with iron oxide. Tenna’s nose reeked of its lubricant. One headlight popped out like an eye socket; his windshield ran away with him. The damper bearing split apart from thrown rocks. His tires deflated. Tenna smears his hand on the trunk, his gloves consumed by fungi. He holds on to the car, pretending to nuzzle its cheeks. Small drops of tears fell on its top. Tenna pressed his face against Spamton’s car like a child on their mother’s lap. He hummed himself a lullaby, swirling his fingers in the dust. His smile haunted Tenna, swelling his fury. He beat his fist against the car, causing a ruckus. He woke up from his thoughts and headed to the front. Opening his door to unwanted freedom.
Tenna sits in the driver’s seat; it crumbles from his weight. Pushing him through the car and onto the snow, flabbergasted. Tenna stared at the black canvas, his mind stained with white paint. Spamton came to life and talked to him with ease. He spent hours creating portraits. His favorite thing to paint was cars driving off into the sunset. Tenna placed these paintings across TV World, melting Spamton’s heart.
Tenna pushed himself up, bending his legs to fit in. He grasped the molded steering wheel. The air grew thick. Tenna imagines Spamton’s egotistical face while driving. He always had his eyes closed on the wheel, flirting with everyone passing. Spamton’s creativity expanded like no other; he treated people like objects. It’s not like Tenna gave him the clothes off his back or taught him to be a star. No, he told everyone he was self-taught, that he needed no help.
Tenna had steam rising from his head, and at any moment it could break. He gritted his teeth together, screeching an unimaginable sound. Money started going down the drain, and who was there for him? Tenna. Where were his flowers? His kisses, his flirts. It was all a trick. Just a drunk man telling that he loved him. Tenna knows him inside and out, yet he wishes he could drill through Spamton’s head, seeing his true intentions. Tenna’s body vibrated, filled with blind hatred. Sweat poured down his pants, spreading towards his genitals.
‘We should do this more.’
‘Atta boy.’
‘Why do you care so much?’
Something poked out of his pants, leaving a chill down his spine. Tenna unbuckled his pants, revealing his bulge. Immediately, he pulled down his boxers and swung it out. He placed his dick on the bottom of the steering wheel. Spamton’s hand lay there fingering it, giving Tenna signal of what he desired. Tenna can feel his erection on the wheel, thrusting heavily, cursing the email guy’s name.
“Why did you leave me?” he said with every thrust. “I hope you are dead out there!” Tenna dick corroded on the plastic; he can already see its tears. Tenna lifted out of the car, slamming his hands on the roof. He couldn’t let go, swaying his dick simultaneously. Sweat drips off it.
Spamton displayed his body to him, teasing him. Tenna’s metallic body sizzled when Spamton put a cig on him. Imagining stuffing Spamton’s hole with his sperm, his dick showing in his stomach. Screaming his name, pulling on the covers. Tenna semen shoots out of the car, hitting the roof. He moaned and pulled his body forward. Twitching his leaking dick on the wheel.
“Ha, ha. Wasn’t it ever enough for you?” said Tenna, gasping for air.
He kept thrusting; a drool came out of his mouth, his fangs shot out. Tenna grabbed onto the wheel with grueling pressure, putting it between his thighs. Nothing could hold Tenna back. He sees Spamton’s pitiful face spat on him. He kicked him in the gut, repeatedly. Tenna revolved the wheel, jerking it out of the car. Bolts and pieces of metal flying at him. He smiled from ear to ear, continuing his deed. Grasping its ring, his commitment grows strong.
“I miss you so much.” Tenna cried. “How selfish can a man be, am I right?” The wheel creates small cracks, his dick frail up. “I still got my mojo, keep it going!” Tenna’s head smokes. “This old timer.” He took a couple of breaths. “Still got it.”
Tenna’s erection loosened, his sinister smile went bleak. He shakes the wheel, glaring at what it becomes. It reeks, mashing between mildew and crust. Peeling on both sides, Everything sunk in; his mind distorted into strings. A sharp pain throws him for a loop. As a shadow rises underneath the car, he can sense his neck tighten.
“No, hang on!” He slid it into its rift, shouting Bloody Mary. His dick bent, crackling. “Come back inside.” Spamton couldn’t fill in; he had to answer the phone. Tenna turned his back on him to hear the truth, a cacophony piercing through his head. With his dick conjoined with the wheel, Tenna’s sperm rose to life and cried. He questioned his own creation. Are they here to hurt him? Or to die on his will? The cycle continues. Tenna cleaved to the head. Slaughtered.
Tenna harshly tugged on his dick, trying to break free. When pulled, it stuck between two metal rods, cutting through his circuits. He strained while lashing it out, feeling every inch of his nerves pulsing. The wheel dropped from his rigid hands. Tenna crawled out of the car and placed his hands in the snow, falling to his knees. An endless stream of tears fell to the ground. He pushed his head down, a muffled scream rumbling beneath the snow. Tenna could feel his insides blistering, gunk spread on his twisted wires.
‘How long can you keep doing this?’ Spamton held his glass.
‘Doing what?’
‘The show, don’t you want to be free?’ He turned his head. “Free from me?” He muttered.
‘Oh, Spamton. Our partnership was the greatest thing that happened to me. Without you, I couldn’t spread this much joy.’
Spamton stayed quiet, keeping his head high. He took his last shot.