How the World Fell Apart + HS

ii. What do you call a dummy with a phone?

Harry's long, slender legs carry his lean torso and muddled mind towards the last place he wants to be after witnessing that unimaginable event. What would he say when he gets there? Sorry I was late sir, there was a giant metal spider contraption terrorizing the city and I just happened to be there! No way Reeves would believe that. He needs a better excuse, something that could actually, potentially be possible. Has anything like this ever happened before? Maybe I should've used my phone this time...no one's gonna believe this.

His hand goes up to his curls, tugging at them in hope of relieving stress but only making him wince. The watch on his left wrist reads 3:30; he's just thirty minutes late. He shakes his head, checking the time only makes him more stressed and anxious.

"Move it." Some mutters, their shoulder hitting Harry's forearm. The sidewalks are bustling with New Yorkers trying to go about their normal lives, as if the events that occurred only an hour ago didn't actually take place. Harry nods apologetically and forces a sorry out, chewing on his lip as he maneuvers through the crowd of people standing on the corner of an intersection. He pushes his way through a group of preteen girls huddled around one of their phones; a video of the metal monster shooting red beams towards the earth playing on the screen.

I should have pulled my phone out. How can I be so dumb? As Harry continues to beat himself up over his potentially job ending mistake, he nears the skyscraper. He stops just before the revolving door, adjusting the dangling bag on his shoulder. His right-hand wraps around the strap, using it for comfort the same way a baby holds its blanket. He closes his eyes and inhales; whatever happens, happens. He opens his eyes and reluctantly steps forward, his left hand pushing on the glass window of the revolving door sending it into its well traveled path.

The inside of the building is busier than usual; people scurry past Harry talking through their Bluetooth devices and poking on their phones. The pebble-colored marble floor is a perfect reflection of the thoughts floating in Harry's head—random and everywhere. He takes his badge out of the inside pocket of his jacket and scans it across the security access pad and pushes through the metal gate; making his way towards the escalators and the first floor. The ride on the escalator is far too long for his liking, and the elevator ride to the fifty-sixth floor is an eternity.

The ding of the elevator welcomes him to doom; his left hand at his side is shaking while his right hand is still gripping the strap of his bag on his shoulder. Now or never Harry. He takes a deep breath as he reads the doors of the office; 'The New York Gazette'. This is all he's ever wanted to do and if Reeve's decides to fire him because he's been late once in how the how many months he's been here then so be it. There's always another newspaper like the Times or Herald or blogs. Or blogs.

He grabs the handle of the door and pushes it open only to find a jungle has taken over the office. As he steps inside his eyes travel around the sad beige walls covered in sticky notes of various neon colors and cork boards decorated with crinkled papers pinned up with primary color tacks. Every physical body in the office is on the phone whether that be talking or typing or scrolling; there's pencils behind their ears and their ties have come off. Women have their shoes off and hair pulled back in various hairstyles, some yelling from one cubicle to another.

"Watch out Styles!" A cool gust of air hits Harry's face causing him to stop in his tracks at the first island of cubicles. He looks to his left as he brushes the hair that fell into his face to the side; just a paper ball. Harry puts his hand up in the air to let the guy know it's alright but the guy has already disappeared into his cubicle and is talking loudly in his New Jersey accent.

"Hey Harry, Mr. Reeves wants to see you now." A young, enthusiastic voice states. The voice belongs to Veronica, a black almost blue haired girl with brown skin. Her blush is placed with precision; showing off her high cheekbones, her long eyelashes hover over her excited eyes; she's one of the interns this semester and she's promising. Although she's a few years younger than Harry, they find themselves gravitating towards each other during work hours, usually discussing a new book or band performing somewhere in the city.