Final kiss, by Gabrielle Dubois©

In the previous century, in the previous millennium, in the 1970s, when I was a child, there was only one television, only one screen at home. Please excuse this clarification. It may be necessary for eighteen and twenty year olds like my children who believe that the Internet, computers, smart phones, screens of all kinds have always existed and have always been a common and family use!
So we had only one television to which access, in my family, was very strictly regulated. I had been allowed to see films only when I was a teenager and only on Saturday nights when there was no school the next day. Ah, what parental inhumanity!
And even then, my sisters and I were only allowed to see 1950s and 1960s westerns. A hero, the "good guy", would shoot one or more bad guys for an hour and a half, which allowed him to kiss the patient and pure woman who had been waiting for him all this time.

As for me, I disregarded the avenger hero's unsubtle plans of , the villains' Machiavellian plans, the shots fired. No, me, the only thing that interested me in all this was the love story. The only thing I expected was the final kiss that erased, by the power of love, all the horrors of men, but...
But for my father, when the good hero had gotten rid of the bad guys, the story was over. So, he would get up. He turned on the light in the living room which the night we had not seen coming had plunged into darkness, and he passed in front of the television screen to turn it off during the final kiss! NOOOOOO!
An hour and a half of dust from the plains of the American West, an hour and a half of gunshots, an hour and a half of spit of chew, of bad and sneaky looks, of male villainy, all this for what? For nothing! The final kiss was spoiled by the light of the light bulb suddenly on and blinding me at the only right moment of the movie! And that was not the worst case scenario! At worst, my father would turn off the television just before the hug.

So... So, thank you, Dad. Yes, thank you! Thanks to the only minute of the films I was waiting for and that I missed so many times because of your impatience, I developed my imagination. Once in bed, at night, I imagined the stories I would have liked to see.
And in my stories, of course, there were bad guys, just like in life, but they were not allowed more than five minutes! Of course, there was a handsome hero, but he had not the main role! No! In my stories, the hero was the heroine, love and friendship were his driving force, happiness (not to the detriment of others) was her quest.
 
You, heros, blow for the last time on the smoke coming out of your too often used guns! If there's a fire to light, it's the fire of love!©   

 Gabrielle Dubois