Streams of Consciousness

Schedule

        The alarm rang. The constant beeping of morning hours. It rang. The man shifted in his sleep. The pulsing was persistent, perpetual, continuous, ceaseless, round-the-clock. It went off. Faster and faster. He shot straight out of bed, clutching a knife in his hand. He was back. For a moment he was in paradise. He was there. The sun was shining brightly. The weather was warm. He was there only for a fleeting moment, and then he was back awake, back to reality.

        He methodically stripped off his night clothing. He went to the shower. Set the timer. Wash top to bottom. Every inch must be clean. Then you rinse. Then time to shave. Long strokes. Left side, right side, center. Rinse. Then your teeth. Circular motion. Upper left, upper center, upper right. Lower right, lower center, lower right. Spit. Rinse. Timer went off. Ten minutes on the spot. Back into the room. Dress. No wrinkles, center of shirt lines up with belt buckle, collar down and buttoned.

        He went into his wife's room. Woke her up. Then his son's room. Woke him up. Then to the kitchen. Prep the utensils. Clean again for good measure. Oil the pan. Place the ingredients in order of usage. Measure out the correct amount. Then it was time to cook. Each ingredient worked together, combined to make a meal that was suited for three. Then it went out of the pan, and onto the plate. He ate his meal hastily and with purpose. He grabbed a bottle of water, took a swig, and headed out the door.

        The keys to his car hung on a peg in the garage. He placed the key into the door, and opened it. Get in the car. Situate yourself. Click the seatbelt on. Shut the door. Place the key in the ignition. Turn and start. Open the garage door. Back out. Check both ways. Pull out onto the road. Change the radio channel. Drive to work. It was the same schedule. Always the same. The same route to work, the same radio channel, the same parking spot. Never changing.

        He walked into the building he worked at. When he was a kid, it was his dream job. He was an anchorman. He sat at a table for most of the morning, and talked about events that were happening. People came up to him, and gave him different stuff. Some peppered his face with makeup, others talked in his ear about stuff to mention, and some were fans just wanting to be on television. It was all just busy work. It drained him.

        It wasn't nearly as fun being on television as it seemed when he was a child. First off, none of the news was ever good. Every now and then, there would be something good that happened. Most of the time though, there were fires, earthquakes, hurricanes, heat waves, below zero temps, riots, country takeovers, etc. Secondly, he reported the way he wanted. He didn't lean to one side or the other. He just told the news as it should. He received plenty of backlash for that. Politics was a ruling force in the news nation, and he actively went against it.

        Finally, he was done, at least for the moment. The news was told, and he could go to his office. He went through reports that were on his desk. Murder, missing, building collapse. He wished there was more uplifting news. He hated going out on television, and giving the people bad news. He was the only one that did. The other outlets covered things up. The other outlets provided fake news. The other outlets were all corrupt.

        "Sir, breaking news. Rampaging fire out in the southwest. No mention in the other outlets. Do you want to air this?" a reporter asked him. He took a breath, and nodded his head with a yes.

        "Alright, story is a go! We air in five! Hopefully nothing interesting is happening on the channels, because we are interrupting them all. GO GO GO!" the producer yelled, and the office sprung to life. He was rushed to his chair, the lights were turned on, and the cameras were pointed to him. The camera man gave him the signal, and he talked. He looked straight into the darkness of the camera, put on his serious yet welcoming face, and told the news.