Welcome to the Newsroom

Newsroom, a short story.

We all work in the newsroom. It was decided the moment our parents pulled the lever. Living in the Upper Quarter, attending both Newberry Elementary and Newberry High—these things were all set in stone for us. I used to be pretty okay with this narrative. I mean, it’s like the argument for school uniforms, right?

Think about it this way: Say you attended a school like, I don’t know, Rosecrans! Public, right? As we all know, in public schools, it’s basically a crime to impose a dress code because it supposedly represses freedom or some other lame excuse. But without a dress code, there’s variety. And since everyone struggles with body image because the media loves pushing a “normal” narrative, we’d all have to decide which outfit best suits us. A losing battle.

Basically, it’s like the Catacombs War of 182. The skeletons marched in, thinking they had the element of surprise, only to face a counterattack. A losing battle. That’s what choice feels like.

The uniform fixes this whole problem before it even starts. If Sally Lue from Rosecrans High were forced to wear a plaid skirt and a white polo, she’d have no choice but to accept how her twenty-five-dollar outfit fits her and move on with her life. Something many people NEED to learn how to do. The skeletons would have received warnings about the Appalachians. Uniformity saves all—well, not all, I guess.

I know I just said thirty seconds ago that I think uniformity is good, but can I level with you? I would literally kill to have problems. I know, I sound like a loon, but can you blame me?

In history class earlier this week, we were learning about the Old World—the old continents and old cities. We narrowed it down to just one main one that seemed to be doing alright until it lost its uniformity: the United States of America. They started out years before their demise as a great and powerful nation. Real rigid, you know? Nobody questioned them because they had a good set of laws and stuck to them. The only problem was that a nation and its people are different from one another. The brain and the body are two different entities, you know? So while the country as a whole was doing fantastic, the people were super unhappy. Well, not all the people, I guess. The higher-ups, or as they called them, the government, were doing well because they made the laws. But the working class, like you and me, they were struggling. They had no problems, but problems are what form us. What gives us opinions? What makes us, us.

To make a long story short, I think we’re bound to repeat what happened to the Old World. We’re going to make our society so damn perfect that it becomes too perfect and suddenly super imperfect, you know? It’s like they say, “History is bound to repeat itself.” Some geezer probably said that back in the day, but hey, it lives in infamy, right? Sorry, I’ll stop rambling now and get to the point. Just give me a second—I just realized I haven’t been breathing through this long but NECESSARY spiel.

(inhale)

(exhale)

(inhale)

Alright. Where was I? Oh yes, summarizing my intuition. Wow, what a hard thing to do. Anyway, I like how we are perceived but dislike how I perceive how we are. Does that answer your question, Arnie?

Arnie sits back in his chair and firmly yet gently responds, careful not to spark another rant, “Yes.”

“Perfect!” Mary replies. “So, are you interested in working in the newsroom?”

“Yes, I mean, it’s as you said, right? We have to.”

“Yep! We have to! You’re from the Upper Quarter, no?”

“Indeed I am.”

“Awesome! Well, let me give you a rundown of what we do here in the newsroom.”

“Rats,” he whispered softly.

“Alright, so as you know, we live very separate lives in the newsroom compared to the homeworld. Haven’t you ever wondered how to access the homeworld? Gosh, knowing what ‘resting Mary’ is like has always tickled my brain. The fantasy of whether I’m a vigilante or maybe even one of the people we report about. REPORT. Yes, in case you didn’t notice, I love to talk. Maybe I love to talk in the homeworld too. But before I go back to the reports (will she ever?), I have to ask your opinion on the homeworld. Did you ever think we’d become this efficient, this uniform?”

“No. Never have.”

“Wow, such color! Give me more, Arnie! I mean, I am hiring you, so…”

“Alright, well, I guess it’s perplexing. The fact that the higher-ups were able to alter our brain chemistry so there are two versions of ourselves. One in the work world and one in the homeworld. I guess it’s also perplexing how those two never mix. I mean, doesn’t the brain have the power to do both?”

“Well, we do have some shared knowledge… Like we know our schools, our living quarters, our outfits, basically most things. But at the same time, it’s like we know nothing about ourselves.”

“I know. It’s like you understand everything, but to see it, you have to look through a foggy screen that blurs everything. You can remember when you need to, not when you want to.”

“Oh. My. God! You do have an opinion! I should introduce you to Angela, but that’s for another time.”

“Yes, another time. So, reports?”

“Okay, Mr. Brightside, this job consists of two main things. First, we receive our data from our reporter network, which brings news of the homeworld to those of the work world. Then we receive word from the media division about what opinion we should have on the story, and then we report! Wow, I guess that’s three steps.”

“Huh?”

“What?”

“So we don’t have unique opinions?”

“Silly! Every opinion is unique! And we have them after they give them to us!”

“Cool, I guess?”

“It is cool. But that’s about all I can share with you today. I got a notification from my higher-up agent that homeworld Mary needs to be out of the work world by 3 PM, so your first day in the newsroom is over. You can leave! Oh, but I do have to do one small thing before you go, okay?”

“Sure. What is it?”

“You need to acknowledge one thing and sign one paper for me. This little sliver of tree says that the higher-ups and newsroom officials have authority over you, and you need to follow all their directions. In the red, it says that you are not allowed to converse with the media division.”

“Why no conversing?”

“Well, no one knows for sure. But… I heard that if you do, your two worlds will mix.”

“Whoa.”

“Whoa is right!”

“Well, see you later!”

“Bye, Mary!”

“Bye.”

END.