The Stupidity Rewritten

Interlude: A Short Speech (Kayden)

Meanwhile...

His hands were trembling as the cards that held the words of his speech fluttered to the hardwood floor, like the butterflies he held in his stomach. Guanjun felt the situation rewind back to the speech that got him this promotion, except that his trusty secretary was no longer by his side. (KAYDEN I LEGIT WILL KILL U) leanne relax (nah that wasn't me but yea kayden is dead) Instead, Samuel was the one who gave him the thumbs-up he seriously needed for this moment.

Guanjun inhaled, and stepped toward the stage. The spotlight shone harshly in his eyes as thunderous applause, some sounding merely polite, resounded through the room.

He had prepared for this exact speech for so long now, but the words now slipped from his mouth. He gulped, and cold beads of sweat dripped from his greasy hair, dotting his spectacle lenses. He wiped it off in a clean motion, and cleared his throat as a signal to begin.

"Do you know where we are?" he called out to his audience hanging on to his every word, his voice amplified across the entire atrium through concealed speakers in every nook and cranny of the place.

"Ngiam's World Private Limited!" the audience shouted over themselves to reply.

Guanjun looked down, his eyes rooted toward the floor. He took a deep breath, and glanced back at Samuel for support.

"No."

There were diminutive gasps reverberating across the gaps that held the speakers, murmurs of disapproval at this newfangled supervisor, untrue statements of Guanjun's youth.

"We're in some story. In some world. Floating in the abyss.

"Fates written into a Google Docs, or Word document, or another.

"We're not real."

The audience didn't seem to understand. Peculiar noises of confusion resounded from the crescent where spectators sat.

"Some twelve-year-olds, like us when we were younger, write this story, pretending they know everything. Sure, they know how to write a composition. But they don't know what the hell they're writing about. Our lives are erratic, unexpected, despite being stamped and sealed inside an envelope like those at the Oscars.

"These authors don't know love, but they act as if they do, creating faux crushes on one person or another. They don't know financial stability, or how a company even works, but they act as if they do, designing fake jobs and separating divisions, using seemingly compelling vocabulary, but that's all they know."

There were sounds of protest among the audience.

"And if we want our company to shine in the dark, a flare gun among the grey, fireworks at midnight, we'd better step up. Because this situation isn't getting any better. But we can."

The applause was louder when Guanjun stepped down from the stage, Samuel clapping him on the shoulder, complimenting him, as all worries cleared away.

("ok now i still need da meth")

End of Interlude: A Short Speech