Bring back Moonlight! It was innovative and was extremely well written.
Aside from "American Idol" (okay, I admit I'm a wuss--so sue me!), the only other weekly TV episode my wife and I eagerly awaited was Moonlight, CBS's "magic realism" TV series about a subsociety of vampires living in Los Angeles. So innovative, so well casted, so well written! But alas, after only a 15 episodes, it closed shop a few weeks ago.
I've waited for demonstrations to spring up to save it, intending to join them, to even offer myself up as a suicide bomber, if need be, to effect revival of the show. But so far, nothing...only tomblike silence across the land.
Other fans whom I've chanced upon were also enchanted by the show, loved it. If this series isn't revived, it may well follow "Star Trek" and become a cult favorite which reruns its single season of episodes, ad nauseum. Hey, you can still see complete episodes of Moonlight on the internet http://www.cbs.com/primetime/moonlight/ If this brilliant show stays dead, then I will choose to believe that it was just too scary for most Americans...that our once brave nation has become a land of Fraidy Cats?
If you find the following poem too frightening to finish, then you are too timid to have enjoyed Moonlight. So go hide in closet somewhere!
The Monster of Forever
"Don't feed me to the Monster of Forever,
"feeble whisper, first utterance in days.
Eyes wide, he lifted head from the pillow,
snowy sheet to chin, shroud abeyant.
What terror roused him from coma
that cradled him tenderly so long?
Was this new burble his breathing,
or tumor sucking last drops through the straw?
The beeping, the blipping, the dripping
of the gimmickry 'round him, incessant;
different, indifferent surroundings,
yet the human portion humane,
poised expectantly for the departing
that science and intuition proclaimed.
Cataracts veiled this world from his vision;
what images had he conjured from hell
that set his gaunt face atremble,
cascading sweat to the pillow,
freezing breath in the chests of the vigil?
His words echoed nothing of heaven,
no promise of eternal bliss.
So tensely, all awaited description,
hoping for lucid depiction,
lest he lay saying the way they may follow
in coursing this darkling enigma.
The priest traced a cross on his forehead,
but terror precluded sensation;
demons held total his attention
till he sighed out final repetition,
"Don't feed me to the Monster of Forever!"