Board Thread:Writer's Workshop/@comment-26444017-20180622074808

Mostly, I'm looking to lengthen this thing, but any advice, contributions, etc. would be greatly appreciated.

"Standby."

My left index finger rested gently on the volume slider. I could feel the ridges in the plastic, the curve that was meant to mimic the shape of a human digit. The fingers on my right hand tapped rapidly on the cheap folding table.

'Where is it?' I knew the story was coming. I'd been waiting for almost a full day. There was no way we weren't going to cover it. It'd already made the rounds online, garnering thousands of views. We had to say something about it. So where the hell was it?

"Mic her." Rich's voice piped directly into my ear by virtue of the headset. Hastily, I moved the slider responsible for Julia's microphone into place, simultaneously silencing the audio from the previous clip. A low hum could faintly be heard from the speakers, a sound I attributed to the air conditioning system in the studio. But it wasn't until Rich's next command, directed toward the camera operators, that her voice was heard.

"Cue." It had quickly become my favorite word, as it always preceded the melodious tones of her beautiful voice. I found it both calming and exhilerating just to hear such vocal perfection, and what luck that I would be paid to ensure that it came across with clarity so that all could enjoy it as I did. It was a dream come true.

But it wasn't what I was most excited for, no. Moreso than Julia's vibrant voice, I was eagerly awaiting the words that would be wrapped within. It had been less than a day, but I already felt as though I had waited a lifetime. And my patience had been rewarded, at last, when I heard her begin.

"A viral video has been circling the Internet depicting a brutal exchange between two homeless men. The individuals involved appear to have gotten into an argument regarding spacing limitations of the underpass they were living in. That altercation erupted into a fistfight which ultimately resulted in the death of one of the men." Julia paused momentarily, glancing down at the IPad in front of her. "Now, we want to warn you that what you are about to see may be disturbing to some viewers."

I wasn't worried. I'd already seen the video a half dozen times in the few hours leading up to this. "SOT in A." Rich interrupted, ensuring I did my job correctly. I may have been disgruntled at this interruption, but I wanted to hear this happen again. I raised the volume control responsible for the short clip of the fight. The footage was shaky, taken via cell phone by what seemed to be a passerby. The audio was not much better, but subtitles had been edited in before airing.

One of the two men stood with his back toward the camera, a tan coat draped around his shoulders, thick black gloves on his hands, and a wool beanie covering his head. The other man, more clearly visible, had a thick green coat zipped up to his chin, which was mostly obscured by his thick, unkempt beard. One of his eyes was dull green, while the other was milky white. Understandable, given that he seemed to be in his late fifties and there was signifigant scarring on that side of his face. His hands were bare. He didn't seem to have the same luxury as his opponent, though he did have a red wool cap of his own.

The two exchanged words briefly before their fight began. "Mic her, and cue." Julia's voice overtook the audio from the clip as the two fought on screen. "The men got into this territory dispute late Wednesday night, and as you can see from this footage, it didn't take long for it to come down to a brawl." The men exchanged blows as she spoke, but it only got more interesting. Briefly, the man whose back was to the camera pulled back an arm, plunging his hand frantically into his back pocket. Then, for a split second, there was a silvery glint.

"Then, you can see one of the men retrieve a switch-blade knife from his back pocket and stab the other man with it repeatedly." I thought, 'Why bother blurring this part? We all know what blood looks like. It doesn't really matter that it's all over the place. It's still blood.' But the producers had different plans, I suppose.

"The victim of this tragic crime has not yet been identified, but police are investigating at this time. If you have any information regarding the identity of the attacker, please call your local police station or Crimestoppers." I sighed internally. 'Poor Julia. You're the type of person that really means it when she says that kinda stuff. I runs kinda counter to my personality. It's bittersweet.'

The camera cut back to Julia at that point, and the show moved forward as normal. My morbid curiosity was sated for now. I knew that that satisfaction wouldn't last, but I could hold out long enough to get back home without worrying my coworkers with my oddness. They wouldn't understand anyway.

"Good work today, Nathan."

"Yeah, you too." I reciprocated Rich's compliment, mostly to keep up appearances. I shouldn't have to hear that I'm doing my job well, and neither should he. But I guess it's all about being nice and courteous, and if that's how people want to see me, then so be it. I have better things to do.

I stepped out of the station building onto the pebbled sidewalk, taking in a breath of the moist remnant air of last night's storm. I had parked around the corner past a row of trees that had been planted in the walkway, woodchips and metal grates at their bases rooting them in place. I always thought it was appropriate comparison to the world as a whole. A blossoming thing surrounded by concrete, caged by metal, and founded on the death of what came before. That realization brought with it a sort of reverence for these things. I placed a hand on the slender trunk of one of the trees, just taking in the rough texture of the papery bark.

I smiled to myself. Another appropriate comparison. I stepped away and walked toward my car, allowing my finger to scrape lightly along the building I had just left. The color of stucco that the station sported didn't match well with the coarse concrete substance that it was built with. The scraping ended abruptly as my hand reached the edge of the building, tranferring over to the low, pebbled wall that housed our business parking lot.

I hadn't parked back there. That lot was used for company vehicles; cars, vans, and SUV's that the reporters and production personel could transfer equipment in. We had no actual employee parking, instead finding whatever place we could on the street to leave our vehicles. I quickly located my white minivan and strode toward it. I stepped past a puddle against the curb as I reached the door, key already in hand.

As I ducked into the car, I felt a wall of warm air billow out. It had been rather warm earilier in the day, and it seemed that the still, cool air of the night hadn't had enough time to undo the influence of the sun. I took note of the various bottles of soda, most only half emptied, that littered the floor around me. Glancing to the center console, I found my cupholders occupied by two unfinished cans of Mountain Dew. 'I really need to clean this thing out.' I thought to myself. 'Tomorrow.' Something I'd told myself dozens of times before.

Between the cans, there was one other thing of note. The pocket knife I kept in my car was there, slightly askew. The sharpened point of the window breaker affixed to the pommel was facing towards the back seats of the car. The hooked base of the grip that housed the belt cutter reminded me of a gargoyle's claw; motionless, yet dangerous.

The sight relieved me. It was something I told myself each time I got in. Surely, if anyone were to break into my car, the first thing they'd take would be my knife. It's a valuable in plain sight, the most obvious thing to steal. So, each time I return to find it unmoved, it reassures me that no one has been tampering with my vehicle. I slotted the key into the ignition, starting the car up.

Returning home, Metallica blaring from the speakers, I started getting the itch again. That video; I had to see it one more time. To take in every little detail, and know as much as possible about how it went. The obsession for this macabre viewing gripped me. I could feel my foot pressing more heavily on the gas as I raced to my home, just five minutes away. My hands tensed up, fingers digging into the steering wheel. I started to sweat profusely, overcome with an odd nervousness.

Was I really having a panic attack over this? What the fuck? My heart was pounding in my chest. It felt like my ribs were cracking. The rock music faded away as the sound of blood rushing through my head grew louder. The tension in my hands intensified: I could see the veins and arteries on the backs of my hands, raised and quivering. I had to do something about this. I had to get home. I had to see that video again. I had to...

Realization spread through my entire body, and the horrible discomfort started to subside. 'No.' My hands relaxed, and the fake leather cover of the wheel slowly expanded back into place. 'I have a better idea.' The pulsating rush in my ears grew silent, and my heartbeat calmed to normality. My eyes glanced down to the switch-blade. My awareness shifted to my left pocket, where my cell phone rested. 'Yeah. Much better.' I took a sharp u-turn and calmly drove toward the interstate.

The next day was agonizingly slow. 'Where is it?' I thought a full day would have been enough time for them to discover him. I even made sure there was someone nearby to report it. We had to cover this story. I knew it was coming, so where was it?

"Cue."

Julia's melodious voice rang out through the room. "Another man was found dead this morning. 52 year old Martin Copeland was discovered beneath the overpass of interstate 37. Police began investigating in response to a call placed by an onlooker. We reached out to this witness for a statement, but they declined to comment, asking that they not be on camera." Not surprising. The bitch was scared shitless. Apparently, she had never seen a crime show on t.v.

"Because of the distance of the overpass from the location of the call, police are certain that Copeland's tragic death was a homocide. They are now asking for anyone with information regarding this case to come forward." Only one witness, and she won't talk. No chance anyone will be able to help police with this one. The only evidence left is the video file silently sitting in my phone.

Seriously, why didn't I do this sooner? I get the thrill my body demands, my beautiful muse sings my praises, and I have something left afterward that can tide me over until the urge becomes too strong again. Where's the downside? And why did I need to be caught in the act to come to this epiphany? I'm lucky my face wasn't on that video, but I really should have figured out sooner that I could make videos of my own. Small keepsakes, treasures more valuable to me than money. Dozens of times over, I could have heard Julia telling the city about the amazing things I did, if only I hadn't been so stupid. So many wasted opportunities. 