Stain [H.S] - Major Editing

4

They say the first day of your career will always be the most tiring one, and tiring it was indeed. Liam oriented me about the guidelines in writing the "perfect" editorial. He gave me exercises on extensive writing, criticizing, finding persuasion, and a bunch of other new stuff that gave me a headache. 

He gave me the job of micro-editing the articles for the whole week, meaning, I was tasked to check every article for grammatical errors, punctuation mistakes, etcetera. I'm happy about it, I'm not complaining, but really I can't wait until I start writing my own editorials.  

On a different note, Chief Morrison was in a very bad mood today. Apparently the graphics people had misspelled "Mississippi" in the comic strip sections again.

Zayn, the comic artist, had sworn he wrote four s's and two p's, but the Chief wasn't too interested to hear his alibis.

At five thirty, the completed paper was finally transferred to the printing press, and we were all ready to go.

Fry had to stay with Vanessa, a beat reporter who needed serious assistance on her story about government corruption, so I walked out by myself instead.

As I stepped outside the building, I see Harry crouched down beside his car, which was parked on the sidewalk.

I approached him. He didn't seem to notice me.

"You need help there?" I asked.

His head jerked up and he hit himself on the wing mirror. He groaned and I laughed. I felt guilty about it though, after seeing the pained expression on his face. "You okay?"

"I'm fine." He grumbled as he stood up.   

"Okay then." I said, grimacing. "What were you looking for? Maybe I can help you or something." 

He rubbed his head. "My car keys." 

"Oh, well, when was the last time you saw them?" 

He scrunched his eyebrows together. "About five minutes ago. I remember taking it out my bag after gathering my stuff. I also remember holding it in my hand on my way out. It must've fallen off. But it couldn't have. I don't remember dropping anything."

"Hm," I rubbed my chin. "You stay here and I'll go look for it at the workroom. Fry must have seen it."

"No, no. I've checked everywhere." He said, voice strained. 

Then I see something shiny sticking out of his shirt pocket. 

"Maybe it's in your pocket?" I pointed. 

He patted his chest. "My pocket? There's nothing in my p—oh. Here it is." Relief washed over his face, and then he suddenly looked sullen. "I'm sorry I caused you all the trouble."

"Nah, it's all good."

"No," he shook his head, "seriously, I'm sorry." 

"You don't have to apologize. It was nothing, really." I said softly.

With a very distraught look on his face, he started rubbing his hands together.

"Harry," I took a step toward him. I placed my hand on his shoulder and he froze. He shuddered and backed away.

"I'm sorry." I said, flustered. "I didn't mean to touch you—"

"No," He snapped. "I mean, I...I should probably get going." He was clearly disturbed, distracted. "I-I'll see you tomorrow, Alice."

He unlocked his car and got in. He looked angry, hostile, and I immediately felt sick in the stomach. I gave him a friendly smile before crossing the street.