Cletus scooted himself up against the screen, leaning so far in that the sweat from his brow rubbed of on the glass, resulting in short, rainbowed streaks. How the Tellytubbies engrossed him so! Although he was already ten, although he felt ashamed watching the show, it somehow managed to quiet the voices in his head, voices which told him to do bad things. Now, clutching his plastic red bag, he felt at peace with life, his place in the world seemed clear.
His mother watched from the wings, feeling mixed emotions towards her son and his entertainment of choice. He was at peace, but was this normal? That was more important to her, the appearence of regularity, though she did not act on her desire. She was not that shallow.
Just then, Big Bob walked in, drunk from chugging moonshine behind the barn, characteristically in a savage mood. Seeing his son wasting his time with such girly, "city folk" dribble, the mountain man went into a psychotic rage, kicking the TV screen in with one massive motion. He then grabbed Cletus by the scruff of his neck, holding him at eye level, letting the boy inhale the noxious alcholic odor of his Pa. Staring into his fathers red eyes, to afraid for the tears begging to flow, the child slowly began to realize, for the first time, that a vaccum cleaner never would be his pet, that the sun did not contain the face of a baby, and that brightly colored creatures were never around when you needed them.
"Polly Mae," Bob bellowed, "get over here!" "We needs to be gettin' this boy some counclin'. He needs his noggin' fixed." Polly nodded, too shocked to display any real emotion, afraid to admit she agreed with her husband. The parents sent a disturbed Cletus up to his room, and began to talk.
He was loaded into a pickup truck the next day, the last day he would see natural light. He would spend his last year of life slowly sobbing in a padded room, crying out for his friend Tinky, and recieving no answer.
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