Tragedy

The radio lay on the table, silent, unused, for a long time. Dust coated its scratched plastic window like snow, obscuring the cheery red needle stuck halfway between 92 and 94. Two batteries lay beside it, so close to the radio's vacant, plastic port that one lazy spring almost touched the flat cap of the left battery's lonely head. Their relationship was electric, but every day the batteries lost more of their spark - and, in time, the radio's fervent wish to sing a song of love died a little more.