Do Not Notice the Screen

Do not notice the meteorite in the screen next to the tunnel they said. If you disobey this law, this is the sixties, so we could shoot you dead. We got into our black and white cars, and drove to and from work. Doing our duty, because back in the day, nobody dared shirk. Daily I drove my co-worker Hal, who lived next door. He was a peach. What about that meteorite? I slammed the brakes with a screech. He knew the rules back in the day when assassinations were about. Don’t make me belt you! He clamped his mouth shut, bit of a pout. In the 60’s we were allowed to do some things, but others were not okay. We knew this for sure, in this grayscale common ground, back in the day. Our TV sets did not yet have color, it was not something we would dream. Hal said another word about that screen, and I began to scream. It was the last ride together we had, for Big Brother scared little ole’ me. Hal did not understand we could be eliminated by the F.B.I. or this giant TV. After work I let him know I would be driving myself only from here on out. He nodded his head, knowing I meant it, and did not give a sigh or a pout. Every time I passed that giant screen I thought of Hal and I sighed. After a year or two, I found out he had cancer and had died. It made me angry at this meteorite screen I was not supposed to see. That night I threw rocks at this screen, destroying this giant TV.