The ties were black, the lies were white.
In shades of gray, there is no candlelight.
The sky that people are seeing today are the skies filled with nothing but darkness.
Its gloomy, obscure, and tenebrific appearance has brought fear, worry, and even such chaotic episodes.
Its episodes saddened countless of innocent people turning them to worry about everything.
LIFE WAS NEVER WORSE, BUT NEVER BETTER.
It seems like, these people who are wearing a black pair of outfits with a black-tie were being poisoned by the sharp venom of cash and coins and even cents.
All my life, my so-called stupid ultimate dream was to be a journalist someday.
There is innumerable news that had been modified or for easy understanding, changed.
Something has to be unfolded.
Something has to rise from the grave.
The grave of lies has been covered by the vivid colors of cash, by the squeaking sound of coins.
Innocent journalists have been murdered, tortured, some of them drastically experienced agony.
Their articles have come from sweat and tears just to make the news powerful and authentic. But then, all they receive is their own flowing river of sticky, fresh, and hot blood of their own bodies.
DROWNING INTO IT.
GETTING KILLED.
GONE MISSING.
It is now my job to turn the tables into the favor of light. So silly of me, but it sounded for a moment that the term "job" isn't something applicable in both the reality of life and the world of journalism. Therefore, I will be using the term "mission" instead. It sounds big and I know that. Personally, my version of journalism's purpose is to bring justice into the world and to provide a bunch of daily informative information to all the families.
MY BROTHER DIED.
I will always remember the night when we heard the news of his death. He was a writer. Not just a writer of stupid stuff, but a news or an article writer in a big publication in the country.
HE WAS MURDERED.
But no one knows the reason why.
In the middle of that night, he said that he will be home late, because he was busy writing some articles.
After a few hours of that text from him, our mother got a phone call from an unsaved contact, saying that my brother was found dead.
We immediately went there. Crying.
Mom didn't stop crying until we got there in the publication office where he works.
We see him on the floor, lifeless and full of blood.
There was nothing found in the table, it's totally clean. No papers, no pen or pencil.
He was lying on the floor and we couldn't do anything. We just cried and cried and cried until the policemen that have just arrived brought him to a funeral.
No one knew what happened.
But someone will know what really happened that bloody night.
By the way, the autopsy report stated that he was shot in the head, chest and somewhere below the chest, I couldn't specify that because I don't know what it is called. I am trying to sound funny here because it really punches me every time, I am remembering that scenario of my life I couldn't and wouldn't forget.
THE CASE WAS CLOSED.
BUT IT'S NOT, REALLY.
Imagine, my brother has been shot by an unloved, stupid, asshole, shitty stranger that has gone after the crime. There were no fucking CCTV in that area that's why even the cops can't start a stupid investigation.
Now, I am here applying to this publication office.
I want to give people a piece of news.
A real and not a modified one.
It may be risky, but I also seek for justice. It's for my brother and for the family of course. I am a recent graduate of Broadcast Communication at the International University of Southeast Asia. Not to be boastful but I never got a grade below uno. And also...
"Stop right there. Yeah, you're good especially your grades and your background in journalism. You're now accepted. Welcome to our company, the Prevalent Paramount Arrowhead Publication." The admission officer said.
"Thank you, Madam. I will do good and I will be productive at all times" I replied with an excited voice.
After I got accepted to that mysterious publication office as one of their lucky four new writers, I immediately called my mom to inform her about this.
She was happy.
I just can't feel if it's genuine. She was telling me every day to apply in another publication office. Of course, I refused that command of her because here, I'm going to do something worthy though quite risky. Not quite, it is really risky to the point that I might get killed. I might get killed by the same hands. I wish it won't happen.
I don't want to die.
Not yet. Maybe soon, but not yet. Oh, please God!
By the way, right away.
You didn't know my name. I feel like I need to tell you my name and some basic shits about me. Oh, I am Joven. In order for you to know my real and full name, just hang in there because I'm about to bring you in a place full of darkness. Help me carry the torch and see behind the incognito. I'm about to bring something from the dead. I'll be having this red pen of mine to correct what was wrong and what is wrong. I just want to say that, Ice cream is my favorite food of all time. Nonsense. Isn't it? For me, it makes sense nevertheless. Ice cream melts, just like time. It is also naturally and mechanically and chemically and physically cold, just like my brother's body in that bloody night. Ice cream is also commonly sweet by its flavors, just like how sweet and caring my brother was to our family before.
I forgot to tell you. I am now in this stupid, boring, and cheap coffee shop. I ordered a cappuccino to drink while reading this book in my front right now. The title of this book is "Forget Me Not". This book happened to be a horror storybook but I fear nothing at all.
"Excuse me. Can I sit here?"
[My mind was like, Oh, girl, yes you can, but you may not. Can't you see I'm trying to be alone here? Oh, gosh. I think you can find your own place.]
"Oh, sure" I replied.
This stranger in front of me is now sitting and also reading on the same table. She's got fair skin. She doesn't look so young, not old either. I like her fingernails. It looks so clean, quite pinkish, healthy. She looks just fine. She dressed nicely. She looks smart, but I bet I'm smarter than her.
She suddenly paused her reading moment and looked right through my face. I guess she has caught me staring at her.
"Uhm, sorry. I didn't mean to sta-" I wasn't able to say what I was saying.
"Jean! I am here" She shouted, but not so loud.
I was in a complete shocked minute. I thought she was looking at me. Damn, I am embarrassed. Absolutely disgusted. Dude, what I have done. Gosh, my dignity. I asked myself, am I that assuming?
I realized that she was looking at her friend (I guess that's her friend). That friend of hers came to sit beside her, and now, they are both in front of me.
"Sorry. What were you saying?" She asked me.
"Nothing. It's absolutely nothing, I'm fine."
"Okay" She awkwardly replied.
After that, I decided to leave that coffee shop. I hurriedly went to the nearby bookstore. The bookstore's name is really cool. It is called, Bookstore: The Store of Books. Just wow. So freaking cool. So disgusting. Can't they think of a better name for it? Gosh, these people are really getting through my nerves and red and white blood cells, as well as my stupid capillaries.
I was actually looking for a book that has many Sudoku Puzzles. I just love solving it and it makes my mood completely peaceful. But the hard ones make me angry and hungry. Then, I went to the counter and pay for the book I just picked. So excited to answer these!
"How much is this?"
"That's free, Sir." The man on the counter replied plus a smile showing his not-so-white teeth.
"Oh, Thank you"
I immediately went out of that bookstore. It was so hot there. But not as hot as me. Kidding. I went looking for a bench so I can sit and feel the freshness of the cruel summer's breeze bringing aromatic and somehow polluted air. I found one. It looks old. It needs refurnish. While I was sitting there, while my eyes were closed, my sweat was flowing, my ears were covered by an earphone kind of thing listening to classical song, I feel someone was in front of me.
"Excuse me, Sir. Can I ask you something?" The nuisance said, I mean the stranger walking by.
"Uhm. What is that? Sorry, I didn't hear you." I replied with a plastic humble voice.
"I just want to ask if you know where can I find the Prevalent Paramount Arrowhead Publication. Uhm, you know, the publication office here." The man replied.
Oh, this man could probably be part of the four
newest set of writers in the publication. He looks just fine, not totally good-looking. He's got fair skin complexion, very Asian. Quite taller than me. But I have the whiter teeth for sure.
"Uhm, you must be another applicant, right? Well, I actually went there about two and a half hours ago to of course, apply also. Sadly, I'm not going to tell you where can you find it and how would you go there." I answered him with an attitude, you could feel it, I guess.
He looks so tense. He's got more sweat overflowing from his not so clear face, just like mine.
"Oh. Could you please tell me now where can I find it? I've been looking for that place for almost an hour now." I was like, don't you have a map on your phone? But, of course, that thought stayed in my mind, specifically on my cerebellum.
I laughed at him mildly. I guess, a friendly laugh. Just like chuckles on a movie subtitle.
"Hey. I was just messing with you. By the way, can you see those tall trees over there? (We both looked at the trees on the right side of mine, a bit far actually) I can see them too! Kidding. So, if you can see those trees, then you have eyes. Really, you can see the publication office behind those tall trees. Take care and the best of luck to you!" It was so cool messing with that guy. I bet he's a funny person with some funny jokes. I can feel it.
"Thank you so much. I gotta go. Bye." He replied. Then he run towards the Publication Office.
It seems a little boring here on this bench. Even there's fresh air, it's still hot. But again, not as hot as me. I decided to go to the apartment where I live since my last year in college. I'll start working as fast as tomorrow. I need to be fresh, cool and good-looking tomorrow for the welcoming remarks. I'm so ready to meet the other six hired new writers of Prevalent Paramount Arrowhead Publication.
I am in my room now. Walking slowly through the mirror placed beside my bedroom. Looking at the picture in the center. It was the last photo of mine with my brother. The photo looks so fun. It was captured several months ago. We were in a party celebrating Mom and Dad's 32nd anniversary as wedded sweet, caring, and loving couple.
I sat for a moment in my bed, and I whispered-
"Hello bro. How's life there in heaven? Or in hell? Just kidding. We missed you already. Every day, every minute of our lives. This is for our family, for you. I got accepted to the same publication where you worked. I've got some business to do."
I swear I don't love the drama; it loves me.
I need to rest now and make productive things. I have so many things to do. It's my first day tomorrow.
LONG LIVE.
LONG LIVE.
LONG LIVE.
Cheer up, self. Cheer up, Jeremiah Oliver Vann Éclair Nehemiah. That's why my nickname is Joven. It came from the Initials of my stupid, ridiculously long, pathetic name. Some were biblically-based, so amen for that.
I have to sleep now. I'm going to sleep after experiencing that Welcome Destruction moment in the publication office.
Good night stupid creatures of the Milky Way Galaxy.