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Writer's pictureWJ King

THE REPORTER

Out of bed, in and out of the shower, she has a firm resolve to change the world. Armed with perseverance and knowledge but most importantly significant curiosity for her mission, she dons her robe and wraps a towel around her shoulder length light brown hair. Carrying her ‘World’s Best Aunt’ coffee cup, she sits her 5’3” 110lb frame in the recliner/couch and looks out her 37th floor living room window. Her laptop lies next to her where she fell asleep last night. She holds her considerable and steaming coffee cup with both hands, looking down on the city of six million people and wonders what the day will bring. A reporter, her task, as she sees it is maintaining objectivity. She fights to not be biased in trying to offset the biases of others charged with the dissemination of world affairs and her internal battle is a constant one. Some of those sympathetic with the philosophical tone of the other side of the aisle think their responsibility equally valiant. Both sides in addition contain, straight out partisan reporters and/or liars. The most prevalent commonality is, they each consider their positions righteous.


She watches the daily update, featuring the POTUS, Vice-President and the main players from the White House. The very same presentation will be depicted vastly differently by separate camps. FOX NEWS will applaud the president’s leadership and organizational adeptness in these trying times of the nation and world. CNN will report the president’s rambling, confusing dissemination of assertions without factual background. FOX NEWS speaks to the president closing the borders proactively and saving countless lives. The left leaning media points to the virus not being taken seriously by the White House at the onset. She pours herself another cup of Joe and says in a barely audible tone, I didn’t sign up to be on a political fucking team.


Her I-phone rings. She and her mother discuss the virus for a couple minutes, when her mother reminds her, in case it had escaped her, she is thirty-four years old and not getting any younger. Her allusion is of course to marriage and children. She no longer cares if it happens in that order. She haphazardly injects lesbianism, giving her tacit approval if necessary, probably with a Seinfeld wave and “not that there’s anything wrong with that.”


Having submitted her story for print and refusing to bow to partisan reporting, she’s done her job and she’s proud of it. Reading the publication this morning, she is annoyed but not surprised. Her story has taken an ever so subtle lean toward the billionaire owner’s political position, via the editor. There was a time a violation like this was maddening to her.


Accolades come in via e-mail and make the editor’s revisions slightly easier to live with. She wonders when she won’t care at all.


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