The Editor

Chapter 1: Editing

I let out a sigh, the latest work of mine nearing its completion. Following the script for this one proved to be quite the challenge. But it's my job to overcome such problems. I don't work here because it's an easy job. Every day, there are more scripts, more stories needing editing, each of them having some ridiculous complication. My hand burns as I push pen against paper, a final jab creating the last full stop. My work here is done at last.

"This is a nightmare." It's impossible to miss Ivan's thick accent, not that there's anyone else it could be. He sits besides me, staring at a page of his own, glancing out the observation window every now and then. Both of us are editors. We both exist to correct stories, to make them better and to ensure that the will of the Author is maintained in the process. We both deal with different genres, of course.

"What's the problem?" I put down the pen and take a sip of coffee. Caffeine is a marvellous aid to the senses. "Having difficulty with the beginning again, are we?"

"No, no. Far from that. It's hard to make a satisfying ending. You're good at that, my friend, good friend. Help me out here." Before I can even answer, I find his script in my hands. Well, may as well take a look. It's not a very long piece of writing. His handwriting is as messy as ever. Using paper rather than computers makes things far easier to annotate. And of course, there are other benefits, but it's not time to get caught up on that. My curse, I suppose, dealing with wandering thoughts no matter what the time.

It takes a couple of reads, but I finally spot Ivan's problem. The main character is supposed to die. But it's not like he's sacrificed anything, or even needed to. That's a problem. Especially given the gruesome way he went out. Maybe some something to protect needs to be added?

"Ah! I know. Give me a moment." I get writing once again. Perhaps I can reconcile my own problems in the process. "There we are." I hand him my modified story, and he chuckles as he sees my solution.

"So he died to protect her. Clever. Very clever."

I can't help but allow a smug smile onto my face. "Yes, indeed. No unhappy endings. A sacrifice made for your one, and mine gets to live on knowing she was saved by a stranger. Then she meets someone, another guy, and they fall in love and have a nice life together. Works out wonderfully, am I right?"

A feminine voice pitches in. "May I take a look at that?" That's Emily, the new proofreader. I hand her the stories.
"It's great having someone to make sure you're not making any mistakes, isn't it my friend?"

"It wouldn't be a problem if you didn't make so many errors." He seems rather annoyed at my undeniable logic. But I don't have time to boast any further. The next script I have to work with is a difficult one, and I can tell within seconds that it's not worth my time trying to save.

"Well, this one's a discard." I throw the stapled pages over to Ivan. "Do you want with it. I'm moving on." Not every story can be salvaged. Sometimes, it's better to just let those darlings die, as they say.

"I'm impressed." Emily looks back at me, having finished her perusal. "I'll put it through for you." I pay her no mind as she moves away for a short while. It's nice not being to the one to hand the scripts over for further processing. Saves me a lot of legwork.

The sound of a bell interrupts my thoughts. "Lunchtime already? Time's flown by today." Sure enough, the standard food deposit box now has my usual sandwich.

"You're the only one." I can barely make out what Ivan is saying. Must he always stuff himself like this?

"You need to appreciate good food more. Goodness, look at you! Are you some kind of animal?"

"All humans are, aren't we? We're just animals with good stories and-" he stops. "They've started imprinting."

"Oh, a spectacle for once." I look through the glass window. There, on a metallic operating table, is a man. His name? Jonathan Lakes. His age? Thirty-six. It used to be thirty-four, but I felt like making some minor adjustments. A group of technicians place the device around his head. He's unconscious, and for good reason. Having a hole drilled into your skull is quite painful when you thrash around.

"It's a marvellous machine, isn't it?" I can't contain my enthusiasm. These things have always fascinated me. "It makes sure every story ends as happily as possible."

"What was his story, again? Wasn't he the one who lost his girlfriend?"

I nod. "Well, he had lost her. But fortune is on her side. I found another story lying around. A girl who lost her husband. So now these two get to be together. Remarkable, isn't it? The power of editing in action."

As we speak, I know what's going inside that man's mind. Countless flashes of constructed images are being shown to his mind, overriding past experiences. Tragedy will be replaced with triumph. Horror with happiness. Misery with magnificence. That's the great thing about living in a world like this. Everyone gets the ending they deserve.

"I envy you," says Ivan. "You must feel so proud. All that ever happens to mine is getting dumped."

"What else do you expect them to do with a corpse? Some problems just can't be fixed. We're editors, not designers. We can't change who they are, not too much. We just make their stories better."

The door opens. Emily's back. "Oh, lunch already. Did I miss much?"

"Not really. They've just started flash imprinting for the day."

"Well, I can't stick around for too long. I've got business to deal with. Sorry."

"Don't we all." Ivan seems to find his little comment far more hilarious than he has any right to.

"No need to apologise. Do what you have to. The world doesn't become a better place on its own."
Emily's halfway to the door, but she stops. "Oh, and Gary?" There's a look in her eye. Something solemn. Is something wrong with her? "If it's alright, could you come to the gardens on your next break? I'd like to discuss something with you."

She's helped me a lot these past few days. If something is wrong, I can't ignore. It's my job to fix these things after all. "Far be it from me to turn down such an offer."

She lets out a sigh of relief. "Thank you! I appreciate it a lot. Really, I do. Now, I'd best be going off. See you!"
Ivan glares at me. I shrug. "What?"

"You know perfectly well what. Why do I never get invited to these things?"

"Maybe if you shaved once in a while-"

"Shut up!"

I turn to face the window once again. Looks like they've got the machine running. I wonder what it's like. Some people are sent here when they make mistakes. Some are on the edge of breaking. Some beg to be edited, to have their lives made better. Whatever the case, I'm sure it's for the best. It's quite a world when there's no such thing as a sad ending, is it not?