How the World Fell Apart + HS

i. the beginning of the end

He moved to New York City in hopes of becoming the Editor-in-chief of the New York City Gazette. He had always loved writing and literature classes in school; so much so, his teachers would often give him extra papers to write and books to read. His love of the English language came from his mother; she used to read books to him as a child, and when he learned to read she would buy him as many books as she could. She always supported his love for writing, often times they would sit in the den by the fireplace as he read his poetry to her. His sister would join every once in a while; she was never one to compliment him, but she always did when he'd share his writing.

When Harry moved to New York City, he was just 18. His teachers back in Holmes Chapel suggested he meet with literature professors at the University of Manchester. They would recommend novels for him to read, and were more than delighted to read what he had to say; at least one young person was interested in literature. With all the connections the professors from the university had, they pulled a few strings and opened a few doors for the then 17-year-old.

He packed his bags, kissed his mom goodbye and never looked back. One of the professors set Harry up with a friend's son, who was also studying journalism at Baruch College. They had a small apartment blocks away from university; a small two-bedroom apartment. Harry worked at an ice cream shop just down the road; he also wrote for the school newspaper. He lived a busy life, going from class to work to newspaper room.

Harry didn't have a lot of friends, he mainly kept to himself. His roommate, Kenny Danes, was his best friend. He would occasionally get lunch with someone from the newspaper, and he'd go out for drinks with a couple of people from one of his classes, but that was about it. He'd had a few crushes over the first few semesters, but he was too shy to talk to any of them. Being awkwardly tall, and awfully clumsy didn't help his case either. He was quiet and reserved; he thought it was important to listen to what others had to say.

As he neared the end of his undergraduate venture, he applied to magazines and several brands in hopes to put his degree to work. And of course, he applied to the popular and prestige New York City Gazette. He wouldn't admit to having one, but his dream job was to become the Editor-in-Chief of the newspaper. But it would be hard, and it would be a fight. But he was ready for a good fight.

It was a rainy day; he was sat in a dimly lit café working on a piece for Baruch's very own newspaper, The Ticker. He was having trouble deciding which adjectives to use; the food on campus wasn't horrible, it just came from a vending machine. It wasn't stale, but it wasn't the most appetizing. Skip the adjectives, he thought to himself, and moved on to the next sentence. After what seemed like hours of frustration, he got a call from Billiard Reeves, the Editor-in-Chief at the New York City Gazette. He called about the pieces Harry submitted about tourism in the city. Reeves offered him a part-time position for the newspaper, and a full-time position could follow once he graduated and if he survived the part-time position.

That was all just a blur; now Harry's writing for the Gazette full-time. Each time he turns in a new column, the praise he thought he would get turns out to be underwhelming critiques. It's not that he's not passionate about writing, but he feels stuck. There's only so many columns about bike lanes and the minor accidents happening around the city that one can write about. Sure, he thinks maybe he should've gotten a creative writing degree, but journalism seemed 'practical' or as practical as one could get.

He's his way to the Gazette; Reeves wanted to talk to Harry about something important, whatever that means. Harry adjusts the bag on his shoulder as he walks down the bustling sidewalk in New York City, he hears screams from a crowd. He peeks over his shoulder only to be shoved by other pedestrians running past him. Screams continue as sirens blare in the distance; a loud boom rocks the ground beneath his boots. Being the newbie of the Gazette, he runs toward the shop closest to him. He flings the door open, taking refuge behind a table next to the front window. The café he found safety in is full of other bystanders trying to find a barrier between them and the chaos ensuing on the streets.