The Clock Strucks Danger

The sensational news story

Desperate times call for desperate measures.

We all get our daily dose of news from either the telly, online sources or the paper. Whats your favourite news channel?

Joe rubbed his fingers against his throbbing temple. The cup of lukewarm milky coffee did nothing to give him a high. He was working late in his office, The daily" publishing house, yet again. This was the fourth time this week and he was tired.

His boss, Dominique, had given him the ultimate boot: a deadline to grab a great story for the newspaper by the forthcoming week or else he would be sacked. The demographics of the paper showed that their loyal readers were now diverted by the latest flashy newspaper in town, "The chronicles".

Joe had argued that the reporters and photographers who worked at " The chronicles " were highly efficient and their editors did a good job maintaining the columns.

This, obviously, did not go down too well with his boss. And hence, he got rewarded with the wonderful deadline.

He stretched his legs and got up from his cubicle. Joe was a senior reporter. He had joined "The daily" in its hay days, thinking that he would one day appear in front of the telly.

But that hadn't happened and now, he was stuck to going to the local crime scenes and writing long reports which were very strictly edited by that arrogant editor, Celia.

In the mornings, he scrounged the city searching for any piece of tantalising news he could get his hands on. But hardly anything happened in the city, these days. No attacks, no murders, no robberies. Even the pictures of the baby born to a local socialite, few days ago, was sold to the "The chronicles". The damn baby made the cover page and " the chronicles" had their ratings boosted.

In the evening, he would still search around or write reports based on the inputs, the junior reporters gave him. He would try to add spice to each story hoping to make it sound important, which hardly worked and would be rejected by Celia.

Joe let out a long breath and shrugged his shoulders. He got up and went to the office cappuccino machine. He made a cup and walked over to the window of his high-rise office building.

He looked outside, taking a sip of his hot coffee. It warmed his insides and he felt slightly better. He drained it and lit a cigarette. His right index finger tapped the tempered glass of the window while the other hand held the joint to his thin lips. His phone vibrated.

He fished out the phone out of his pocket and saw the caller ID. He, immediately, cut the call. It was his wife, Jenna, and he knew exactly why she was calling. He had missed his daughter's choir practise today, despite promising her. He couldn't help it. He was stuck in the deadline meeting that time.

He had called home to make amends but they were not back yet. She had probably taken the little one for ice cream. So, he had left a hasty message. Now, she had returned and was calling him to ask his whereabouts.

Her name flashed across his phone screen again and this time, he switched off his phone for good. The silence of the office weighed on him. The pressure was high.

"You have one week, Joseph. One week to bring a sensational news story on my table or you will be forced to clear your desk."

His boss's words resonated in his mind, hammering his brain.

Suddenly, he felt suffocated in the room. All around he saw rows and rows of cubicles with laptops and stacks of papers on the desk. He began walking through them, looking at each cubicle as he passed.

Some were arranged neatly, with pictures of family, friends or pets adorning the little table while others had greasy burger wrappers and yellow post-it notes littering around.

His own table was a sight to behold. There was a silver handmade photo frame, a present from his sister, which held a beautiful photograph of his wife and daughter playing around in their backyard. Beside it was a sleek and state of the art computer. In one corner, stood a brand new pen stand with different colours of pens arranged aesthetically in it.

He smiled sadly. To him, everything seemed to be hollow. The picture of the perfect family was an illusion, the arrangement of pens in the shiny stand suggested that he was meticulous and organised man. He, obviously, was not because his life was in a big bubbling cauldron of soup.

Joe took a round of the room looking at every piece of furniture as if they told stories. Then, he walked over to the stair case and silently made his way up to the terrace.

As soon as he opened the terrace door, he felt a whiff of fresh night breeze hit his nose. He inhaled deeply and let it all out. There was a slight chill in the air. He walked towards the ledge of the terrace and looked around.

The sight which greeted him was fantastic. There was something peaceful in watching the lights of the residential and commercial buildings and the busy roads. He could see the lights, even see people making their way across the streets like toys, but he was far from the noise.

He was deep in thought as he fixed his eyes at the horizon. "I hope this is worth it" he said out loud.

Images of his first baseball game, first kiss, his wedding, glances of his youth life and the birth of his daughter flashed through his mind. These were memories where he had been the happiest, stored and imprinted in his soul forever. He closed his eyes and whispered a small prayer.

He, then, shakily stood up on the ledge and looked down. It was dark, he couldn't see what was beneath. He knew it was time.

"I'm so sorry, Jenna" he spoke softly moments before his head crashed onto the hard concrete thousands of metres below.

Sure indeed, next day, the suicide of a senior news reporter made the headlines of "The daily". The boss couldn't be happier.