#askthebroadcaster

The anarchist broadcast on the television is quickly reduced to a comercial break. Though you could have sworn the woman screaming into the microphone was... wearing a television on her head. Things only seem to be getting crazier and crazier lately. As something dreadful this way stalks.

Somehow you seemed to have missed the first half of the show. Had she started early? Or had she simply not included it? Either way you are left feeling just as hurt as she. The poor Broadcaster had ended the show on a sour note. A bittersweet memory of what she shows usually were. Though in the midst of everything you find some peace of mind knowing she will be back again. Sooner rather than later.

Static fills the radio station as the host's voice is cut off, then suddenly it fades to silence. You feel a sense that this was done on purpose, though that too fades to confusion. What were you even listening to again? Who knows, maybe just some radio ad. Though a title sticks with you, The Broadcaster.

We are not the same.

Today's broadcast was short after long weeks without a single word from the television headed woman. It was almost cathartic how she admitted to her struggles in a way most would understand. The passing of time, a curious and troubling thing.