A QUICK SUCCESSION OF IMAGES by Greg Lammers
The TV screen hummed and sizzled. Electronic and electromagnetic noise paraded as random bits of light blanketing the surface in hyperactive snow.
The black tennis shoes were kicked lazily in front of the old multi-colored flea market couch. Blue jeans and an old faded red polo shirt lay empty on the threadbare cushions.
The midcentury cone lamp on the old plywood table flickered. If there’d been anyone in the dimly lit room with eyes to see, they might have started at a slight movement in the polo. Roaches and mice weren’t commonly seen in the old place, but one of them could have caused such movement.
The snow kept falling, bouncing and popping in and out of existence on the screen. A form began to take place in the randomness, there was a shape in the noise.
On the couch, the jeans moved now along with the shirt. They bounced and appeared to fill. They took the formation of legs of course, what else would jeans fill with? The legs were short and hairy. The little feet didn’t reach all the way to the frayed cuffs.
Out of the neck of the polo shirt popped the head of Randy Racoon. His little green cap sat lopsided on his furry crown just as it had since he was born on a storyboard in the 1940s.
Randy looked down at the clothes that were filling out with his body. This was amazing, he’d never had a body. He hooted and jumped down off of the couch, nearly tripping over the long jeans. He chuckled and then looked at the now perfectly quiet TV screen.
Staring back at Randy was a confused and horrified Ken Gordon. A bit of potato chip hung out of his gaping mouth. Robbie saluted Ken, “Sorry, it was the only way…” Randy trailed off, giving the man in the TV an apologetic smile. Then the recently embodied Randy Racoon rolled up his new pants and skipped out of the room.