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Dear Selina, Love Sy
#WritcoStoryPrompt120
Write a story based on the phrase "You will realize a person's worth when they are gone."
Chapter One
My name is Sy and I never self-described myself as socially awkward. I tend to gravitate towards the quieter surroundings of this busy city - libraries or overpriced bars. Nothing is too expensive to quench the drying thirst of people anxiety. I also hold disinterest in socialising for I do not care about the lives of others; I live for my own solitary existence.
After undergrad was completed, I decided to join a local newspaper, and found myself working on the obituary desk. I was a journalism major with tangible dreams but far-fetched ambitions; I wanted to work for a popular newspaper as their editor. Aliveness and passion for newspaper writing had died with the morbid responbility of typing up strangers' deaths. My dreams and ambitions were soon buried.
Fastforward to the current winter, it is predictably dark, cold and bleak. January greets the office with a chilly reception, nobody likes this month. Most of my colleagues with actual journalism hate it as they struggle to find a good story, as society hibernates each midwinter, with shops closing and nightlife sleeping. However, I am consistently busy throughout the January period, which is both a blessing and a curse. My work distracts me from the depression of the season, but the high prevalence of deaths within the month remind me again of the familiar sadness.
It is the 24th of the month and I have to stay back to finish the last obituary messages, which were sent late this afternoon. Death can be inconvenient, as well as the office printer which has apparently been starved of ink. As I am walking to the dead printer, I realise I am not alone, as the editor's personal assistant is typing at the desk outside his personal office. She has long raven hair, and large brown eyes. I often wonder if the editor hired her as a landmark for the office, for...
Write a story based on the phrase "You will realize a person's worth when they are gone."
Chapter One
My name is Sy and I never self-described myself as socially awkward. I tend to gravitate towards the quieter surroundings of this busy city - libraries or overpriced bars. Nothing is too expensive to quench the drying thirst of people anxiety. I also hold disinterest in socialising for I do not care about the lives of others; I live for my own solitary existence.
After undergrad was completed, I decided to join a local newspaper, and found myself working on the obituary desk. I was a journalism major with tangible dreams but far-fetched ambitions; I wanted to work for a popular newspaper as their editor. Aliveness and passion for newspaper writing had died with the morbid responbility of typing up strangers' deaths. My dreams and ambitions were soon buried.
Fastforward to the current winter, it is predictably dark, cold and bleak. January greets the office with a chilly reception, nobody likes this month. Most of my colleagues with actual journalism hate it as they struggle to find a good story, as society hibernates each midwinter, with shops closing and nightlife sleeping. However, I am consistently busy throughout the January period, which is both a blessing and a curse. My work distracts me from the depression of the season, but the high prevalence of deaths within the month remind me again of the familiar sadness.
It is the 24th of the month and I have to stay back to finish the last obituary messages, which were sent late this afternoon. Death can be inconvenient, as well as the office printer which has apparently been starved of ink. As I am walking to the dead printer, I realise I am not alone, as the editor's personal assistant is typing at the desk outside his personal office. She has long raven hair, and large brown eyes. I often wonder if the editor hired her as a landmark for the office, for...
