The Silent Screens

One day the national news channel shuts off. And the next day after that, too. This prompts is an invitation to step inside writing creativity - Kelsey Worsham

For many in a busy city never seeming to sleep, the national news channel was their lifeline. People came here for updates on everything from politics to weather, sports to social developments. But one fatal morning, as the people of the city flipped on their TVs, they saw something odd: a blank screen. There are no headlines, no news anchors and no sound. only silence.

People thought of it as an abnormality, a technical fault. Though uncomfortable, they continued about their daily business hoping the next broadcast would resolve the issue. But the silence continued until the afternoon, and panic started to seep in as the nightly news hour ran without a single report.

Social media erupted in ideas. Some believed it was a cyberattack; others murmured about government censing. Spinners of alien invasions and hidden coups, conspiracy theorists had a blast. Actually, though, the reality was simpler and far more disturbing.

Day became night, and as dawn broke everyone yearned for a return to normalcy. Once more, they encountered just a blank screen. Two days now without the familiar faces and noises linking them to the world. The quiet was unbearable.

Families gathered around their televisions in houses all throughout the country, staring at the empty nothingness and each one feeling more distant and isolated. The news was a shared experience, a thread spun across society, not only knowledge. People felt lost without it.

Emma, a young journalist, sat in front of her darkened TV in a little flat on the outskirts of the city. Over the past few years, she had been nonstop story-chasing, truth-seeking, publically presenting agent. She felt disoriented now without the pulse of the newsroom.

Emma decided to look after she couldn stand the quiet any more. She walked to the national news channel's headquarters with her camera and notes. Her shock came from what she discovered there. The building was empty, as though abandoned over night. Computers were off, desks unoccupied, and a layer of dust had started to settle.

Emma called out as she meandered throughout the vacant hallways, but no answer. She came onto one piece of paper on a desk in the control room. It was a quickly penned letter from the chief editor of the station. It went:

To everyone who comes across this,*

We have been silent. Not under outside influence but rather under internal decision-making. The truth had grown too hazardous to share, the strain intolerable. We decided to close rather than spread falsehoods. We apologies*.

Emma opened the unsigned letter and felt her heart sink. She came to see that choosing to remain silent was a protest, a stand against the distortion of truth in their narrative. Still, it left the country empty, yearning the very knowledge they had been denied.

Emma understood she owed it to others to act. She made contact with her colleagues reporters utilizing every relationship she possessed. Together, they resolved to establish an independent news network impervious to outside influence. They returned the news to the people via social media, live broadcasts, and grassroots reporting.

Emma's improvised newsroom was buzzing with activity in a few days. Silence was broken, facts were being disclosed, and stories were being passed on. Once more the country had a voice. And it sounded clearer and louder than it had ever done.

Although the national news station may have turned off, in its stillness it started a movement. The public came to see the value of a free press and truth itself. And a fresh period of journalism emerged from the ashes of quiet.