So, I’m writing a short story. A 4 post thing. I’ll be updating this every alternate day.
To reveal the art and conceal the artist is art’s aim. – Oscar Wilde
‘Hello sir!,’ said the flight attendant as I made my way to the first class compartment of the aircraft. It had perfect reclining seats and a television with the latest movies and some audiobooks. What a man needs for a 16 hour flight.
A man came and sat beside me, claiming the seat that a first class passenger requires to form a perfect bed. Nevertheless, I took a quick glance at him and got back to surfing through the various audiobooks. A middle aged man, well dressed, a sophisticated gentleman in short.
‘Hi! I’m Toby Cleinman!’ he called himself. I was glad that he began the conversation and erased the hint of awkwardness that was starting to rise between the two of us. ‘I’m Jake Massiford! Nice to meet you!’
‘So, what do you do for a living?’ he asked, his otherwise motionless body, turned towards me, awaiting a reply.
‘I’m a freelance writer,’ a certain feeling of pride arose in me when I told him my profession. It felt as if I belonged to a community of artists and that I belonged to the totally different, imaginative strata of society.
‘I’m sitting beside someone who’s a part of the community where appreciation plays such a vital role,’ he blushed, as if he was displaying the fact that he was honoured to be sitting beside me.
‘That is, undeniably true. What do you do sir?’
‘I’m the manager of a stock market company. I was here for some work regarding the same,’ he spoke and on his face I noticed a dash of boredom, not a boredom regarding the conversation but about the endless job and I was guessing, not so flexible working hours because he looked very tired. His face was wrinkled, there were dark, baggy spots under his eyes which made him look like he was living in purgatory.
‘Ah! So, do you like to be a part of the corporate world?’
‘Not really. I mean yes, my job does satisfy me but working aimlessly for hours, it’s taken a toll on my health. I’m constantly travelling. I’m always on a jetlag. My wife and kids are always complaining about how they’ve been reduced to mere acquaintances. My wife doesn’t get the required satisfaction. My kids have forgotten that they have a father. I’ve tried explaining my side of the story, my misery to them, but now, it’s slowly getting implausible,’ his lips quivered, a tear rolled down his cheek as he clutched on to the memories that were fading into oblivion
‘Sir, I know it’s hard but I think, you need to prioritize. I want you to understand that it’s just a job and no matter how dear it is to you, sometimes we have to let go of opportunities no matter how appealing there are. Maybe, just take your family out for a vacation. It’ll help you reconnect. They just might rediscover their father amidst all of the fallouts and complaining. Furthermore, you need to detox yourself. The endless working hours and the tiredness have made their way to your face. They are starkly visible ,’ I tried my best to convince him but it was futile.
‘Maybe you’re right. It’s just, when I see them cry, all my work, all my pain, all my frustration, it all seems worthless, inexplicable. I’m really glad that you’re in such a noble profession. It’s because of people like you that we get to reminisce, and take a detour from normality for just a little time and let the silence and the imagery engulf you. It’s like, we’re in a happy place, it’s solitary, but beautiful,’ he was smiling, brighter than the sun.
‘I’m glad that we still aren’t reduced to showbiz lovers and humanity stills exists. But I’ll tell you, even my life wasn’t surrounded by perfection. I was a…’
That’s my first chapter. Leaving it with a cliffhanger. Already forming the 2nd chapter but if you’ve got an idea to take this forward, I might just use it. Don’t worry, you’ll receive the credits. Also, leave some feedback about this. Since I don’t this so often, I’d be more than glad to hear every opinion, send it unbiased but. 🙂