She moved her hand away after adjusting me, slowly, as she giggled in excitement. I was shining, brand new under the amber light peeking in through the curtains. She called for the man sitting in the comfortable rocking chair across the room. He had an old newspaper in his hand and looked indifferent, yet his eyes sparkled as he looked up. Suddenly, a big, bright smile appeared on his face when he saw me. I was the center of attention.
Every day, I’d sing songs to them. The beautiful lady would dance along, the air lifting her blue dress, making it sway around her. I’d tell stories too. Some days, they were tales of unrequited, impossible love that made her shed tears. Other days, it was pure horror—blood, and even a touch of gore.
Day after day, I kept entertaining them with my stories and songs. I could tell I had an important place in their lives. But one day, a day I remember very clearly, they came home with something new. The woman stood in the doorway, smiling, holding a soft, yellow blanket that complimented her usual blue dress with the ruffles. She walked up and placed the blanket on the couch. That was when I realized it wasn’t just a blanket. A baby girl was wrapped inside. She giggled and made adorable sounds that left me staring in awe.
For the first time, the couple had something more important to them than me. I still talked to them every day and sang my songs, but it wasn’t the same. It would never be the same again.
As time passed, they came near me less and less. I still spoke to them every day, but the conversations were one-sided and much shorter. I no longer told romantic stories that made them blush and giggle or terrifying tales that left them sleepless. Instead, I told bedtime stories and sang lullabies. Times had changed. The woman and man were now engrossed in their new phones—strange devices without strings like the ones I once knew. I didn’t understand what made them so special until I saw them take over everything, the whole world included.
Even the child stopped coming near me. I became just another accessory in the living room, rusting and forgotten. They didn’t find my stories interesting anymore. I thought I had lost my charm until the day they finally decided to get rid of me.
The child had grown into a teenager. The woman and man had aged, though the woman was still as beautiful as ever, her hair now streaked with white. One morning, as the sun rose, the man approached me. He held me from both sides, lifted me up, and placed me in a cardboard box. I wanted to shout, scream, or do something to make them stop, but I wouldn’t be heard. After all, it only took pressing a single button to turn me off. I was old, and I was being replaced. Out with the old, in with the new, as they say.
I was taken to a small shop filled with familiar-looking items. It was an antique shop, as they liked to call it. I don’t know how long I sat on the shelves, brimming with stories but with no one to hear them. One night, the store owner decided to make room for new things. He took me off the shelf and threw me into the alley out back.
“That TV is trash anyway!” he yelled.
Now I was worthless—rusted, old, and broken. I was just a piece of junk, once the most important masterpiece in a home filled with joy. Life was too fast, and things changed too easily. I felt a pang of irony when I thought about my owners’ phones for a moment. They believed those devices would last forever. It was funny, but it was also the truth. Everything was replaceable, and everyone was cruel.