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|The Reporter (standard:mystery, 43832 words)|
|Author: MysteryWriter||Added: Aug 13 2003||Views/Reads: 2584/2263||Story vote: 0.00 (0 votes)|
|Just a small novella about the death of a lost man and those who searched for the story of his life. email author for audio version|
The Reporter The winds blew hard that day. So hard that the roads were littered with roofing shingles. It wasn't a hurricane or even a tropical storm, just a few gusts of wind off the ocean. No one expected the wind, it just happened. It stopped within minutes. Damage was almost non existent, with one notable exception. The wind broke a window in a vacant house. More likely the window had already been broken and waiting for something like the wind to finish it off. A shard of glass, picked up by the sixty mile and hour wind, was thrust like a dagger into the old man's heart. The coroner said that with a blood alcohol level of .21 he likely was asleep when it hit him. Even if he was awake, he likely didn't feel a thing. His death should have gone unnoticed, he after all was a non person. He was in fact one of the nameless, faceless men who wander the streets of every large city. His life ended with a great deal more fanfare than his last few years. The reason was simple. High in an office building, with a distant view of the neighborhood where the old man died, two men screamed at each other. The older man in the thousand dollar suit was the editor in chief of the daily newspaper. Newspapers had begun to slip in popularity. TV could cover the news faster, if not better. The Daily news had managed to prosper. The daily news was a local newspaper but born in the image of the National Inquirer. A little news but a lot more in depth garbage. That is how the younger man in the hundred dollar suit described the paper's content. "Look Jamison, I know you were a hot shot reporter. I know you were nominated for the Pulitzer. but none of that matters here. You either come up with stories that sell newspapers or you are out. I don't care who or what you are. You either get on the team or find a new paycheck. Do I make myself clear?" the older man asked. "You make yourself clear Ed. I am going to stay here till my contract runs out. You can only fire me if I don't write. You can't fire me because you won't publish the news." Jamison shouted. He had been shaking his head so violently that his long hair fell across his eyes. Actually it fell across his thick glasses. "News, surely you don't call this crap news. Nobody cares what some doctor discovered, not unless it is a cure for cancer or aids. All this man did was discover some kind of tiny little piece of dirt. As a matter of fact if it were some kind of dirt, it might sell newspapers." "That Doctor may have found the building blocks of all life. Ed you are as big a jerk as they said." "Who said I was a jerk?" the older man shouted. "Everyone who worked on the Sun." Jamison shouted trying to raise his voice to the older man's level. "I saved that paper. It was headed into the dumper, just like this one. You have to print what people are willing to pay for. That is something you 'Journalist' never understand. If you want to be a journalist switch to TV. That's where the real news is today. What we do is print the trash people read while they take a crap. You may not like it but it pays the bills." "I don't have to like it. Unless you want to pay out my contract, I also don't have to write it." Jamison was so angry spittle dripped from the corners of his mouth. "You, by God, have to cover any story I put you on." The older man said. "Right, but I can write it anyway I want. That my dear Ed is in my contract. Why don't you buy me out. I want to leave here as much as you want me gone." Click here to read the rest of this story (5064 more lines)
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