My RSS feeds told me the worst was yet to come. Every
shooting and looting, every disaster that struck the town next door, and every
missing persons report prophesied it. Nothing was over for too long as the mean
world was just around corner.
“Get your head
off that machine,” My grandpa would tell me. “The work’s not gonna do itself
you know.”
But I
couldn’t bear to leave the Messenger. Someday it would save my life and even
the family. Yet I pried myself to the so-called real life.
All those
people and their newspapers. Such smelly ink and banter ruled the day even if
the beer remained untouched. I could still recall that debate over some opinion
piece on property rights.
How could
those suits be so lax in a time of constant crisis? A criminal could be
released from court thanks to corruption. With the disease being disguised as a
request for a bathroom break. It would fester despair for many years knowing
that Louis ‘roll-up’ Coe is still at large; released from prison after five
hours.
The
Messenger knew how to solve my worries no matter what it was. Surviving many a
year from killers, drug dealers, hurricanes, and even that strange man across
the street. It definitely was no easy feat.
And just
yesterday I finally met someone who realized the insanity of it all, someone
who knew the Messenger. He took me through downtown so I could meet the
protector of day-to-day humanity.
However, I
was disappointed to find out who…it was. Multiple monitors were on display
behind the windows, playing the reports I watch on my feeds.
“You may
just want the basic package,” He said.
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