Have You Ever Seen This on TV?
“Let’s move over that way. The sun is hitting us dead on. It’ll be easier under the tree.”
The woman wiped a bead of sweat tracing a line down her face as she and her cameraman shifted a few feet to the left. Above them, the canopy of a lone sidewalk tree cast a slim, merciful shadow over the boiling concrete.
“Stand by. We’re going live in ten.”
A bearded man standing just behind them spoke with flat authority. He had just caught the cue through the earpiece nestled in his right ear.
Uhhhh…
The reporter exhaled a long, heavy breath. That deep sigh was an old habit, her private technique to ground herself and lock in focus before the camera’s red tally light blinked to life. In front of her, the heavy tripod was already dug into the shimmering pavement. The cameraman hoisted the rig, throwing her face into sharp, centered focus.
Behind him, the bearded producer raised his hand, dropping his fingers in a silent countdown.
Three fingers up…
Julia raised the microphone to her chest with her left hand while using her right to brush away stray strands of dark hair that the humid wind kept plastering across her face.
Meanwhile, miles away in a freezing, climate-controlled studio, the news anchor positioned himself next to a massive LED wall where Julia’s live frame sat frozen, waiting for the feed to open.
“Good morning! We begin today’s edition of Here and Now with a story that will leave you absolutely breathless. To everyone tuning in across the state, thank you for making us your trusted choice.”
The blinding, clinical glare of the studio lights flooded the ice-cold room. The anchor spoke with theatrical gravity, adjusting the cuffs of his pinstriped navy suit.
“This is a report you won't see anywhere else. We are broadcasting live from the steps of the Regional Courthouse, where a highly anticipated trial is about to commence.”
Two fingers up on the street…
The reporter took a sharp breath and stared directly into the black void of the lens.
“A man, ladies and gentlemen... An ordinary citizen named Luiz, thirty-eight years old, was brutally struck down by a vehicle while crossing a designated crosswalk.”
The anchor raised his hands, clasping his fingers against his chest as he shook his head in a well-practiced display of grief. The studio around him fell into a dead, rehearsed silence. “He was hit on Azevedo Avenue, and the sheer velocity of the impact severed his arm clean off! Look at what our streets have become... Where does the madness end? Our own Julia is live on the scene right now with the exclusive details. Julia, take it away.”
One finger… The line is hot.
The reporter gave a slow, deliberate nod, responding to the booming voice echoing in her earpiece.
“Good morning, Juca. That’s exactly right,” Julia began, tucking another stray lock of hair behind her ear. “We are standing right outside the Regional Courthouse following a case that has sent shockwaves through the community. This horrific incident occurred last night, just around eleven o'clock. Luiz, a thirty-eight-year-old father, had just left his ex-wife’s home after spending the evening with his four-year-old son. It was a routine visit, a mundane slice of life for this family man, until it was shattered by tragedy. Our investigative team retraced his steps and secured exclusive surveillance footage from a nearby commercial property. Viewer discretion is advised.”
The image on the studio’s massive screen cut instantly to a grainy, low-res security feed. In the top right corner, a digital timestamp blinked: 23:45.
“It was nearly midnight. The victim was standing on the curb, waiting for the pedestrian light to grant him the right of way,” Julia’s voice-over narrated over the stuttering frames.
On screen, the red glow of the traffic light bled into the dark asphalt. The camera caught Luiz holding a metallic briefcase packed with his work tools. The moment the light flipped, he took a few confident steps forward.
Vrummm!
A dark sedan tore into the frame like a low-flying missile, obliterating the perimeter and dragging the man across the pavement. The violent impact popped the metal briefcase open, scattering wrenches, hammers, and screwdrivers across the dark road. The low-grade lens couldn’t capture anything else.
The digital clock ticked to 23:46. The traffic light cycled back to green, indifferent.
“Bring it back to me, bring it back to me!” the anchor’s heavy voice cut the tape. “Absolute monstrous indifference! To those of you watching at home right now, or getting ready for your morning commute... can you even fathom that kind of horror? This happened less than twelve hours ago!”
The feed snapped back to the sun-bleached plaza of the courthouse. Julia maintained a grim, mask-like expression, waiting for the cue.
“And Julia, police have uncovered even more chilling details regarding the driver's conduct. What else are investigators saying?”
The reporter nodded sharply.
“Juca, there is a detail in this case that has left even seasoned investigators sickened. For those just joining us, we are talking about Luiz, a local house painter whose arm was severed in the collision. But what is causing widespread outrage is the cold-blooded malice that followed. Instead of checking for a pulse, instead of dialing 911 for the dying man bleeding out on the asphalt, do you know what this driver did? He stepped out of his vehicle, picked up Luiz’s severed arm, and threw it into an open drainage ditch right beside the highway.”
Julia raised her right arm, pointing toward the imposing marble facade of the building behind her. The camera slowly racked focus, panning up to the courthouse entrance as a sharp glare of sunlight flared across the glass lens.
“We will remain live on the scene. Preliminary hearings begin today, and while the state has yet to release the verified identity of the vehicle's owner, we will not leave this spot until justice is served. Back to you in the studio, Juca.”
As the journalist wrapped up her sentence, a cluster of high school students strolled past the background. Spotting the live broadcast, they broke into wide grins, flashing peace signs and heart gestures at the camera, giggling before melting out of the frame.
“Thank you, Julia. We will be tracking every development closely,” the anchor concluded.
With slow, heavy steps that made his leather soles click sharply against the polished studio floor, the presenter walked away from the digital wall. Trailed closely by the primary camera, he moved toward a sleek counter lined with transparent plastic bottles. In a fraction of a second, the heavy mask of moral indignation evaporated, replaced by a radiant, blinding smile.
“Now, for the ladies watching at home... Are you tired of living with debilitating lower back pain? Sciatica? Spinal stenosis? Well, I have the definitive breakthrough you've been praying for.” He reached for one of the bottles, displaying it proudly to the lens like a trophy. “This is the ultra-pure, maximum-absorption Magnesium Complex. You know you can trust my word, don’t you? Call the toll-free number flashing at the bottom of your screen right now. The first one hundred callers will receive an unbelievable seventy percent discount!”
He spoke in a relentless, breathless cadence, rationing his oxygen between phrases.
“Call now and secure yours before supplies run out! We’ll be right back with our comprehensive coverage of this horrific crime and other top stories. Don’t go anywhere, folks!”
The camera began its slow, mechanical ascent toward the studio rafters, widening the shot. The host shrank on the screen, swallowed up by the massive, glowing stage of afternoon television.
—-
— To be continued