They reached the floor-mounted chair at the edge of the frame and a disquieting grin spread across the man’s face as he squeezed the handle. The woman immediately began to vomit through an oval-shaped hole in the side of the helmet and, just like that, her body went limp. The man lifted her effortlessly, placing the woman into the chair as he moved just out of frame. He then turned the chair so that the only thing still visible in the shot was a profile view of the chair-back and a sliver of the woman’s helmet-covered head.
But something told me that was more than enough. I had this sudden overwhelming feeling that what was about to happen off-screen was something not meant to be seen. This was not footage from some movie my brother made. This wasn’t footage at all. It was a window. A thought came to me then from out of nowhere, clear as someone talking in my ear:
Videohead… His name is Videohead.
I passed out somewhere around dawn and groaned at my mom when she tried to wake me up two hours later. She yanked the covers out of my hand, saying, “Oh, no… Save that song and dance for a test or something. You’re not faking sick your first day.”
Apparently, I had completely forgotten that school was starting this week. “You sure that’s today?”