Heartrending story from my weekend

It was a bizarre accident. It all happened so quickly and then, when the tragic ending was utterly unavoidable, when the cruel dance of fate had been set inexorably into motion, the world slowed to a slideshow to impress each passing image on my mind, images that torture me still... It was a chilly Friday night in Memphis. I decided to move my TV to a shelf unit. It seemed like a good idea at the time. But when situated, the back of the TV pressed uncomfortably against the back panel of the shelf, so it wasn't sitting quite securely. (Cue the ominous minor chord in the background.) I decided that the back of the shelf was expendable and started carefully prying out the staples that held it on. All around the edges I went, removing staples, while the night held its breath, watching how ignorantly I fumbled toward my heartbreaking destiny. When all the staples had been removed around the edges, I gave the back panel a pull to pry it away from the shelf, but a devious row of staples running across the middle held it on, jerking the panel out of my grip and slingshotting it back against the back of the television, sitting, you'll remember, insecurely on the shelf. From my vantage point behind the shelf unit, I heard the slap of the panel against the TV and around the side I could see the TV tip forward and dive screen-first into the hardwood floor. I could only watch. And that was it, it was busted. Shattered in the prime of its life. It shook the house and my weekend. After intervals of profanity and unsuccessful attempts at resuscitation, I carried its lifeless body to the street. When I awoke the next morning, it was gone and now only the scars remain.