It is true that the television was on, and that so-called celebrities were to be seen chit-chatting inside of it about the most uninteresting subjects known to Fred. Still, his mind cared about one thing. One single thing. One tiny single thing. One very tiny single thing.

It comes very in handy to interrupt this approach before it gets to drag itself much too long. That is why a proper explanation is needed at this point. And that explanation, no wonder, is about the inner workings of a television set. The simplest way to put it is the following: it consists of an electron-sensitive screen and a cannon of the later mentioned (i.e. electrons). As the cannon ejects electrons, these short-lived bastards hit the screen one by one and are transformed into light, which is, inevitably, emitted towards whoever happens to caught sitting in front of the whole marvelous device (not that it is at all possible to sit in front of part of the device, unless, of course, it is disassembled; but that does not really matter right now). What really matters is that the screen is made in such a way so that it is divided in very small little squares, each with a certain color, designed specifically to be hit by the ill-fated electrons. These tiny squares are, for some not-important-reason, called pixels.

And that was exactly what Fred held all his attention to: a single pixel on his television. Not even the unquestionably loud sound of voices, music and the eventual wild donkey could bother him. At all.

As he stared at this specific pixel he could notice how it went on and off, how rapidly it changed, how it, apparently for no reason, did all those things without even having time to think about them.

And this, thought Fred, as he showed by his utter and unshakable concentration on that pixel, was something to think about. It really was.

This very short story is part of a series of stories never before published (and, probably, unpublishable) simply because they were written, in a serial manner, by none other than me (who had never bothered to publish them).

rhwinter, April 9th, 2007
Filed under: art, short

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de quando é esse conto?

Comment by nano — April 9th, 2007 @ 10.22 pm

exactly february 9th, 2007

Comment by rhwinter — April 10th, 2007 @ 4.02 pm

um conto em portuglês…

Comment by quinha — April 10th, 2007 @ 7.25 pm

[...] Caso você entenda inlês, sugiro que leia esse texto na língua na qual foi originalmente escrito (e não o portuglês abaixo). [...]

Pingback by ruído / noise » “Quantas pessoas moravam ali?” — April 11th, 2007 @ 11.54 pm

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