holdingacat | One Year Later, pt 5

The door to his booth opens in the middle of his story about angels (which aren't real), and he turns, frowning, ready to scold his intern for not obeying proper protocol. But Intern Chad shoves a piece of paper into his hands, a piece of paper with an update scrawled on it in a bright red ink that may or may not be blood.

He scans it, and...

He's sure his gasp, like a man sucker-punched to the gut, is audible, but... he does not care.

"Oh... A truly fearful thing has happened, listeners.

Carlos, standing triumphantly in the toy-scaled city, was attacked by tiny people using projectiles and explosives. He fell back to the side of the small hole in the pin retrieval area of lane five, blood...

oh
...welled through his shirt, and
no
here I am
no.
stuck in my booth
no!
useless
no!
only able to narrate and not to help." Cecil tries to rally, tries to erase the pain and frustration in his voice. Surely this... this will get better. It will. He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his shaking hands.

"He staggered, fell to his knees
Carlos
so much blood!
not Carlos
He collapsed completely.
not my Carlos
Curse this town, that saw Carlos die. Curse me. Curse it all.
no
Let us take a moment to–
I
Let us…take this moment–
I can't
Ladies and gentlemen, let us mourn the pass–
I...
can’t.

I can’t!

I am still holding this trophy! I–"

He stares blindly at the page in front of him, the words that are slowly melding into one another as the ink bleeds together into a mass of nonsense. He takes a deep breath, and forces his voice into something more steady, something completely alien to himself in this moment.

"We go now to this puh– …pre-recorded public service announcement."

Click