Eleanor Furness hates being rich. She despises the lavish, old mansions, the materialistic lifestyle, the pompous attitudes, and the careless nature of it all. Even more than that, she hates her father, who was the sole reason she was brought up in...
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𝙃𝙊𝙊𝙆, 𝙇𝙄𝙉𝙀, & 𝙎𝙄𝙉𝙆𝙀𝙍
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The curser on my page blinked at me while I went between looking at it and the words written on the paper on my desk. JB was clicking and clacking away hard at work from behind me. When I first heard this week's prompt for him, I felt bad, but since having been given my prompt, well, now I feel like he got off easy. Vaccinations turning children gay—is that the sort of bullshit the people who watch ATN care about? Is this really the demographic I'm writing for? I don't even know where to start, hence the blinking and staring.
"Having trouble?" Jen asked to the right of me.
I huffed. "You could say that."
"Be happy you don't have to talk about how sexy Tony the fucking Tiger is." JB quipped.
"I still find that easier than the bullshit they've handed me."
"You could always ask for, like, a different story." Jenna offered.
"I'm sure Cyd would love that."
"I actually heard she's out today. Maybe you can switch your stories with someone else. Ravenhead?" She asked.
"Nah, that guy's just here to fuel the bigot flame and read the teleprompter. But maybe you're on to something. Hang on, I'll be right back."
Since I didn't see my lanky friend, I headed toward Tom's office, grabbing the paper off my desk. As I suspected, Greg was sitting by Tom's desk, talking to him. Tom would know where Cyd is, which means Greg would know because Tom tells Greg everything. I knocked on the glass window, and Greg looked up at me. With some quick motioning of my hand, he was out of the office and standing in front of me.
"What's up?"
"Is Cyd out today?"
"I'm pretty sure." He leaned in closer. "Tom won't stop talking about it, so I'd have to assume so. Unless he's, like, gone and tied her up in a closet or something, which honestly, I wouldn't be surprised about." He noticed the conflicted look on my face. "Why?"
I brought the paper up to him. "I'm trying to find a way to get out of writing this."
His eyes danced across the paper; the more he read, the higher his brows rose. "Wow. This is, this—I mean, I can't believe people actually believe this."
"I know, right? I don't care about what ATN puts out there because I never watch it, but I don't want to be personally responsible for some poor kid dying of polio just because their parents heard he might turn into a twink."
