Inspiration

Arthit sighed, running his fingers through his hair. He tugged on it in frustration as he looked down at the articles emailed to him, mentally categorizing them and filing them away for later. The theme had changed at the last minute and everyone, including him, was now hurrying to finish up the monthly issue. This meant more work and definitely a sleepless night. He groaned, letting his head fall onto his desk with a loud thud.

“Are you okay Ai’Oon?” Toota, the Style Editor asked. They were in the boardroom, scraping several print outs and replacing some of the photos to be included in the magazine. The week before their deadline, their boss had woken up on the wrong side of the bed and practically ditched the whole theme.

His eyes are already blood shot from the constant strain of having to stare at his computer, revising and re-revising everything; because there is only one way to go, and that is perfection…or so their boss had implied.

"Not really." His voice came out muffled. "I'm tired and I want to sleep for a couple of years, give or take." He lifted his head to look up at the board, squinting as he tried to make out the words. "Jesus, everything's blurry." He rubbed his eyes despite the sting of pain. "What an asshole," he mumbled to himself, thinking of their boss.

“Care to enlighten me as to who would merit such rage?”

Arthit jumped and shook his head, hurriedly closing his mouth and looking back down at the articles in front of him.

Kongpob Suthiluck, editor-in-chief of Thailand’s “The Ripper” was standing at the doorway dressed in another ridiculously plaid suit with a lilac colored tie that he still somehow managed to pull off impressively. Black eyes studied him behind rectangular lenses of his glasses, hair brushed up impeccably. All in all, Kongpob Suthiluck exuded confidence, charisma and power; qualities that the head of a prominent magazine had all the right to have.

“That’s it for today everyone. I asked the printing press for an extension, and they have agreed to wait for two more days,” he announced, pulling out his blackberry as it buzzed. “Good night everyone."

Arthit sagged in relief at the news, nearly on the verge of collapse. He gathered up his materials, shoving his laptop and papers into his bag before standing up, wanting to leave as soon as possible and get at least a few more hours of sleep before having to return to this hellhole.

“Not you, Mr. Rojnapat,” the editor in chief ordered, pocketing his device and inclining his head. “In my office, now." His tone booked no argument.

Toota was the last person in the room and he looked back at him with sympathy before leaving. Arthit clenched his jaw, gripping his bag tightly. He held back his angry retort and nodded, following after Mr. Suthiluck.

This was not the first time that Arthit was called into Kongpob’s office. Hell, there hadn’t been a week that had passed since he had been hired for the magazine that he wasn’t called in to the lion’s den. It was as if his boss was singling him out, always criticizing his writing and always grading it as if he were an English professor.

Mr. Suthiluck took a seat at his desk and motioned for Arthit to take the seat in front of him. After a moment of hesitation, Arthit did just that, hoping that whatever the man had to say now wouldn't take up much of his time. He was hungry and tired and he just wanted to put all his frustrations away for a few hours at least.

“Mr. Rojnapat, it has come to my attention that your articles are…subpar as usual.” Kongpob started, removing his glasses and setting them on the table. The man suddenly stood up and walked behind Arthit, almost as if he were assessing a child that had just made a huge mistake.