It encompasses a feeling I'm sure we've all experienced: self doubt.
Without further ado, I present "A Passion in Shambles."
Enjoy.
An overcast of clouds began to rule the sky just as the forecaster predicted earlier on the morning news, much to Terrence’s dismay. Natural light provided a better setting for writing as opposed to the hum of the fluorescent lights that flicked sporadically in the office. With his cluttered desk flush perpendicularly to the floor to ceiling window, he had never been more envious of Andy in the corner office before him.
Andy deserved that office. He’d been with the Urban Crusader two years prior to Terrence’s arrival, possessed great charming skills, and always touched on a hot button issue before anyone else in the greater Baltimore area. But Terrence knew he was a better writer, and better writers deserved corner offices. If only he hadn’t been so off his game, he thought before realizing his was bending the pen in his hand close to the brink of snapping. Wishing to avoid an explosion of ink over himself, he placed the blue stick on the upper right hand corner of his desk – the furthest position from his seat.
He shook his head to snap out of his internal rant and returned his gaze to his computer screen; a word document with an outline waiting to be filled out stared back at him. It had since before his lunch break, often behind a window holding a game of solitaire or the website Gawker. Terrance often had to remind himself not to steal anything he found on the gossipy news site, no matter how hilarious he found it. Once he caught himself plagiarizing an opinion column on the over usage of bacon in the media while trying to relate it to health problems in America. Since then he’s recognized his subconscious to be extremely detrimental to his job. He fiddled with his keyboard pressing one key hoping a letter would inspire him and immediately hitting backspace for seven minutes before giving up once again out of frustration and logging onto Facebook. He minimized the window to look over his shoulder as the page loaded. The coast was clear. Before he could scroll past five dull status updates, he heard a voice behind him. “Looking for a bit of inspiration, huh?”
Terrance fumbled over his keyboard before he reached for the button on his monitor to turn it off. He turned around to find Andy smirking down at him. When did he sneak out of his office?
“Oh don’t worry, I won’t tell. Even I take a bit of downtime every now and then. You know, about 12 minutes a day.” Andy let out a scoff. “I mean, if I can’t be expected to work straight through the day, neither should you right?”
Terrence’s attempted to calm his flaring nostrils. “Yeah. Sure. Whatever.”
“Well, I leave you to it then. Gotta get back to my cover story. Oops. I was trying to keep that a secret this time.” Terrence glared at Andy as we walked back to his corner office. He almost seemed to glide over.
He reactivated his monitor, turning it towards the window now being attacked by a downpour, and opened a new tab to Twitter to let out another passive-aggressive work tweet: When you think you’re hot shit, that’s when you’re really nothing but lukewarm piss. Not his best, but he submitted it anyway. Even his one-liners were off. Staring blankly at his failed philosophy, he recalled the last time he wrote a cover story. It was the only time he wrote one. Eight months ago, and it was a good one: a detailed examination of the success rate of minorities at predominately white schools with references and short interviews and statistics and everything. It was a topic he was familiar with having earned a bachelor’s in writing from Joyola. He placed his head in the palm of his hand wondering where that raw talent escaped to.
Just then Steven walked by carrying a jug of water to the cooler. He was a senior from Joyola earning his internship credits. Terrence had a habit of checking everyone in the office’s Facebook as if he were protecting the integrity of the magazine. It was through this habit that he realized he shared friends in common with Steven, acquaintances really. In the same manner, Terrence read a few of Steven’s poems; his privacy settings were low. The kid was decent, definitely the kind of poet who could make something of himself the same way Terrence had always planned to.
Terrence shook himself free from his train of thought and returned to his blank outline. Why did he have to get stuck with the opinions column for the fifth time in a row? Granted it was the freedom he had always wanted from his job, but now it performed the role of a burden. Maybe he could ask the boss for another extension. No, that would make it his third time in a row begging for one. It was perplexing that he hadn’t been reassigned to the reader’s questions section yet.
He reopened his browser and typed in his old blog address. He hadn’t posted anything in over a year. Its black background might as well have been covered in cobwebs. For a minute it seemed as if it actually was but it was just the settled desk on his computer screen. All the people this blog had inspired, all those people had done since then: entertainment reporter, local successful rapper, established buyer for a major retail store. And there Terrence sat, feeling unsure of the direction he was going.
As the small hand hit the five on the clock, Terrence hurriedly logged of his computer and put on his jacket. He didn’t acknowledge his coworkers as we walked out of the office and took the stairs down to avoid any possible small talk that could be found while waiting for the elevator. He was too lost in his doubt.
When he exited the building he stepped in a puddle as he walked to his car. As he sat in his car waiting for it to warm up, he pulled out his phone and opened a poem he saved to the device. Reading it to himself, he felt water roll down his cheek.
