Logan sits in his chair, holding his notepad tightly to his chest. He watches his boss, Janus, sift through a variety of papers on his desk. After a moment of hesitation, Logan lets out a deep breath and speaks in a measured tone. "How do you expect me to write anything with such a vague prompt?" he asks carefully, trying to mask the frustration that ebbed into his voice. He hated having so much leeway with his work. He needed specific instructions, a clear objective. He wasn't sure how to do...
"Whatever you want." Janus replies with a shrug. "You've worked here for four years now, Logan. It's about time you found a story for yourself. Prove yourself." Janus rises from his desk and pursues the books on the small office's shelves. "You and I both know you're worth so much more than this local paper. This is your chance to put yourself out there."
Logan watches as Janus walks, his brow furrowing. "If I'm good, wouldn't you want to keep me here?"
Janus smirks, "If a better offer came your way, wouldn't you take it anyway?"
Logan adjusts his glasses, thinking for a brief moment. "I suppose I would," he eventually mutters, easing a chuckle out of Janus.
"Listen here, Logic: this is a golden opportunity. A win-win-win scenario. You help the paper with a good article, you help yourself move up in the world, and you help a nobody potentially become a somebody."
Logan taps his notepad, "Or I help us and exploit a young artist into believing they'll get a boost from the #1 recycled newspaper in Manhattan."
Janus grabs a book from the shelf, opening it carefully. "That's not our problem." He says simply, his eyes skimming a page or two. "You're a journalist. It's your job to exploit people."
Logan grimaces but doesn't argue the facts. All he ever wanted was to write about life without embellishments. He finds himself fascinated by the authenticity of life but, sadly, the world isn't quite ready to embrace his point of view. Whether he liked it or not, New Yorkers prefer stories that are sensationalized and dramatized, not raw and unfiltered.
Instead, he wrote about murder, cons, crime, trends, and idols. All of it was disingenuous, but it got papers in hands...even if those hands immediately dropped them in a nearby trash can.
"And I can do anything with this prompt?" Logan clarifies, a multitude of ideas swirling around in his head already. He shakes his head in an effort to clear settle the whirlpool, a new question striking him. "What's my deadline?"
Janus closes the book with a sudden snap, his eyes thoughtful. "I know you're picky. Let's say...two weeks maximum. Oh, and you'll have to write a short article a day. Yknow—to keep up with deadlines. Nothing groundbreaking. You can write about the most recent TikTok fad for all I care."
"I'm writing filler."
"You're writing filler." Janus agrees with a wave of a hand, "Utter garbage, it'll be painful for a guy like you." He slides the book back onto the shelf, lacing his arms behind his back. "However, New Yorkers will still read it. Just like all the other trash they read."
Logan stands, his anxieties still looming. "What if I can't get a proper interview with anyone? What then?"
Janus contemplates this, rolling his neck as if it were tense. He approaches Logan in a few wide strides, leaning in close.
"You do whatever it takes."
YOU ARE READING
The Air I Breathe - Analogical
Fanfiction"I see him on Friday nights, playing drums in the karaoke bar. He seems completely in his own world when he plays; seeming to have not a care in the world. As soon as he's off that stage though...he becomes a completely different person. I want to k...
