Abandoned Stories (2020)

The Journalist

All eyes around the world had its perception directed at the light-emitting boxes, whose contents were surrounded by broad and bold margins that descended a third of a meter to the very back of the television. The date was January 20, 2001, and the inhabitants of America were all immersed to find out the eventual details and conclusive product of months of debates and voting; the president was being revealed this day. Direct from the television hung one particular series of posters, one Al Gore. The candidate of the Democratic Party that young Geoff Bier admired and favored indefinitely, one who he yearned to be elected president. Months of debates had happened about segregation from within the Bier household, be it a civil war if a one-man army counted. From the grandfather to his older sister, all supported the candidate that opposed Gore, George W. Bush. So hard they attempted to persuade him on the side of Bush, but Geoff remained persistent. That led to his eventual banning from anything “proved too mature and political for him,” including the telly. But this day was different, this day led to a change. A new hope for revolution and a revelation that all within the house but himself were dimwitted swine that ought not to have the right to think. This day they’ll see him rise above all, this day they’ll see that Mister Gore be elected president! For once in months, he was allowed to watch the telly, to perceive the inevitable victory.

“Here we have Florida, the deciding factor in which the president is elected. All President Bush needs now is one more vote to win over the electoral college. And… scored! President Bush had won the electoral college! We here at The Reporter cannot wait for the day of the inauguration of our new President George W. Bush! Fierce describes the candidate of the Democratic Party, but the people succeed!” Those were genuine words of terror to Geoff, words imprinted upon his mind as the most grisly, for it made him prone to not allow embarrassment, but a liability in terms of political insights. Starting as young as 7, the political spore that was to be was crushed from the start, well at least internally. Al Gore should have won; should have been the one that was later elected president of the United States of America, but that one vote changed it all. To Geoff, there was only one reason for the cause; The Reporter. For decades The Reporter had supported only Republicans, never once a Democrat, and had garnered huge successes that way. It was astoundingly unreasonable for such a biased source, according to Geoff, to accumulate a median of 100 million consistent readers, brainwashing them to believe that that party is the singlehanded best party. For years to come, Geoff had fantasized about there being a way to cause their downfall in viewership/reader and credibility, with a portion of the cause from the 2001 election. There naturally has to be a way!

May of 2019

Bliss, ignorance is bliss. To be asleep, to have thy mind at rest and unaware of all around you, to be able to ignore all trouble in the world. That is when one is at true peace when one can relax without the annoyance of life; taxes, death, relations, and all of the troubles. How unfortunate it only lasts around an average of six (below the medically recommended amount) hours for the average American, before they’re once more forced into the mortal coil of human existence. What a nuisance.

“Geoff! Geoff, buddy, you’ve got to learn to manage your time! Wake up!” From below the stairs, there can be a screech worse than a scream of a dozen banshees; the sound of someone telling you to wake up during the morning. Too sore to get out of bed, all he could do was wiggle the least of his fingers in an attempt to get used to his body after only half an hour of sleep. Too tired were the describable words. At the back of his mind there heard echoes of footsteps slowly becoming more emphatic, as if deliberately making him want to shred off his own ears in attempts of peace, but that was exactly what was being done. His roommate had had ample stay with him for the current instant. Grabbing him by the shoulder, Geoff was extracted from the desk (at the same time accidentally knocking over all of his supplies and what was left of his coffee) and uprooted upwards. At long last, his aching eyes peeled open to allow in the rich rays of the sun, burning to put as an inferior exaggeration.

“Are you awake now?” Spoke the person in front of him in a brisk manner as he brushed Geoff’s contagious messiness off of his suit, for it had been wrinkled in the action.

Though his mouth was still dry and bitter from the unbrushed coffee-stained interior of his mouth, Geoff produced his grumble, “Why’d you have to use so much force, Matthew?”

“Oh shut it, Geoff. Why are you still not dressed like this? You’re not really gonna wear ink and coffee-stained clothing to your interviews, are you?” Looking around his room, Matt could find little but junk from leftover experimentations, but the closet ought to have something suitable for such an occasion. There was none, that peccary really had no formal attire.

“Is that a bad thing?” He chuckled, though Matt had not found it especially amusing.

“Up, now! You nitwit! Why in God’s name did I even pick you as a roommate in the first place? I cannot tell, but it is in my deepest list of regrets!” At long last, after a remarkably deep search through the cavernous wardrobe, at last, Matt deducted some semi-clean attire. At the very bottom of the barrel was a maroon colored, polo shirt that was only intermediately wrinkled, and next to it all his necessary garments; socks, boots, pants, but no tie. The tie part could be easily adjusted, so without a moment to spare, all his articles of clothing were tossed directly to him (including the boots). “Geoff. I’m not assured that you know what school you attended to get your Master’s Degree, mate. For once in your life, take this seriously. Put on your clothing, brush your teeth, brush your hair for the round globe, and tidy up! Just do that for once in your life, and I’ll go get you one of my spare ties.”

“I spent seven years in the city-!”

“In Columbia University.” Interrupted Matthew.

“...and all act like that was the bane of my existence! You didn’t even get yours in Jersey, why are you back to America chap?” Smiling deviously at him, Geoff began to extend his body and unwind his muscles.

“Firstly, New Jersey is a part of America, you dimwit. Secondly, I wanted to attend Columbia instead of Princeton University. That’s exactly the reason I even chose to be your roommate because you seem competent, unlike the others! My presumption was very much mistaken, however.” With a fierce tone, Matthew defended his university. Even with fogged eyes, Geoff could see that Matt was, at the very least, slightly offended from his remark. Everyone trashes Jersey.

“Matt, don’t bother!” The fact that every limb within Geoff’s body felt sore gave an additional difficulty in the putting on of clothing, but he began the start by recollecting the articles from the floor.

“Yes, bother. I don’t want you to get rejected the moment you step foot into the place. You went to an Ivy, and still, you get rejected. How is that even humanly possible?” What Matt spoke was sincere, but it didn’t appear that Geoff cared the most about his statement.

“Like every other time?” The subject scoffed.

“If it’s true what I’m sensing, then it’s best that you immediately snap out of the quitting mentality. Just try to act formally for once, you’ll be entered into the job with relative ease that way.” His words were stern, but there simply was not enough processing power in Geoff’s mind to comprehend the sincerity of it all. The abrupt wake left his mind dim and numb.

“Why do you care so much? I have a job, Mister Bartholomew.”

“Mister Bier, your blog is not a viable career path.”

“Fair point. Say, you really care about me. I should pay you back sometimes.”

“So, what on Earth are you waiting for? Put on your clothes!”

“With you in the room?” He chuckled jokingly, as he was beginning to remove his individual articles of clothing.

“Oh my God! You vile cretin! Just… hurry up, I’ll go get you your tie.” Flustered, Matt instinctively turned away from the general direction of where Geoff was directing his vision and headed outside. As an immediate response, Geoff began to dress properly the moment that door made contact.

First, clothing. Struggling a bit to stay awake, he painstakingly stretched in all various directions to put all of it on, occasionally missing a piece or two and realizing that he had worn it in the wrong place. Repeat that thrice and his dressing was complete. The second part of that day was the cleaning up of his room, despite his appearance of a slob, Geoff cherished a neat bed when he went into deep slumber. Cleaning up all of the dropped supplies and neatly organizing them neatly in their correct containers as well as repositioning his desk and chair (for they had somehow moved horizontally. One thing that bothered him throughout that entire routine was the stained carpet that painted his eyes whenever looked at; that was never going to be removed (for he was never going to waste effort into doing so). At long last, his bedroom/office setup was at last perfected once more, ready and prepared for another day of work. From underneath the bottom left side of his desk there held a compartment that proved quintessential in his everyday experience, for he could not live the least bits without it. With ease, Geoff extended his arm downwards, reaching the compartment and sliding his hand inside it to feel the cold metal brims of his spectacles. Grasping his palms and embedding the spectacles into his hand, he placed it upon the brim of his nose to find once more a world ever-so-clear. Colors enhanced in mere moments, becoming far more vibrant than previous, with all textures exaggerated to provide more depth. Oh, how poor his vision had become after years of dedicated research on both major political parties Democrat and Republican, which proved to make him more tactful in his debates with his family, whom he would only meet on the holidays each year. Now with his vision refurbished, Geoff walked out of his bedroom and to the bathroom. In there with his electric toothbrush, it danced delicately and elegantly against his teeth in an orchestrated manner, before its liquid were regurgitated upon the sink. All done in absolute perfection like it was studied and practiced on numerous different occasions. As he finished up his bathroom routine, a tie was handed directly to him (swiftly taken and pocketed) by Matt as he too began to head out of the apartment. In the orderly sequence, the two of them stepped almost symmetrically out of their apartment, with Matt locking the door behind them (Geoff is not to be trusted with such a thing) and headed immediately to the elevator along with an assemblage of other weary New Yorkers. All in a practiced and synchronized manner, carefully constructed in practice since day one of them becoming roommates. With one press of a button, the elevator and its contents were sent down to the bottom floor, with little conversation from either of them, whilst Geoff tightened his tie onto his shirt. With a ding of the elevator, they set out to the bottom floor and outward the entrance. Outwards onto the street, they sense the slight tepidness in the air, with slight difficulties discerning whether the wind decreased or increased its sensation. Nonetheless, like all the countless times before them, herds of citizens stormed within the local buses that stationed themselves outside in the streets. In come the masses, with all executing their transferring of money through the sliding of cards precisely exact to those before and after them, all as if this was organized neatly beforehand. It all seemed artificial, almost, for everything was so superfluous. Too superfluous. The routine of a standard New Yorker would seem odd to all that do not inhabit the same territory, likewise the same for them to others. Here live creatures of habit and routine, neatness and formalness, which (bluntly speaking) is contrary to all other states, including the slob that was Geoff’s hometown (which was why he never visited that place often). The bumps and turbulence experienced on the ride, like all others, were routine and memorized to completion.

“Geoff.” It was stunning, it was out of the blue, it was the outset of a conversation between Matthew and Geoff on the bus! Contrary to Geoff’s assessment of the situation; all would gasp and turn in shock at this scarce moment, no one had noticed this peculiar moment. Matthew could infer what Geoff was thinking, based on the expression on his face and his own experience, but simply delivered an unamused expression before continuing with his perilous venture that was never done before. “May I ask why you quit your job as a manager?”

“I just didn’t like being so, well for lack of a better vocabulary, tyrannical.” He spoke without ever looking at Matt.

“Explain further. And by tyrannical, do you mean in description of a domineer?”

“No, not like that. I’m fond of having the freedom within my own domains; being able to do what I like to do, express myself in ways that I want to.”

“What about a manager that contradicts your ideologies?”

“I don’t just like observing people and vociferating all day. It was a pastime.”

“I would have corrections on the word “was,” but anyhow, so if this aspect displeases you, why occupy the job in the first place? What now will you take, what job will it be?” Matthew questioned.

Geoff smirks, “Because I could get it.”