A stupid comment about Hemmingway and an old TV going entirely too far...

There, it sat.

The cold, wet grass almost seemed to slice through its plastic shell. In its heart of transistor coils, it knew, that it had been replaced.

Inside -- in the warm house -- sat its new, shiny replacement: a twenty-five inch color television, with a shiny silver case. (It bitterly wondered if the extra six inches mattered.)

The raindrops seeped in, through the holes, in the front of its case, where the volume buttons once sat. They had been knocked inward, at some point, but it didn't matter.

The freezing rain almost seemed to burn its wires. It knew, deep down, that no one would ever try to plug it in. All of the rain would make it short-circuit.

It had been left, alone. To die. In the rain. Forgotten.