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Publishers
There are many times in life when the show appears to be over when it is still in act 2, Scene 1. If this happens to you, then it usually means that whatever is occurring, the worst is yet to come ( unless you have feral fruit flies, in which case the worst has already seized you.) Sadly, this lesson is no longer spoken because it almost always changes a person to what an optimist would call a realist: a pessimist. While this may seem like a wonderful thing to pass, it typically isn't, because unbenownst to optimists, they are used by those with a better hold on reality as moist towelettes. It was recently proven that rooms devoid of moist towelettes were considered in the bottom of the half empty-glass of modern life. So, to keep the peace and order of the world, that lesson still banned, even today during the â21st century: a time of progress.â whatever the sticker price, hope is affordable.

Henry Crestview tossed the editorial to the side. A linguistic âhopefulâ had written that piece and sent it to him for evaluation to be published in Shallow Weekly, the world's most popular magazine. The crinkled slice of paper fell gently against a three-year-old pile of short literary warnings about the Apocalypse of 2012. Obviously, one hadn't come to pass, and the irony of the situation gave Mr. Crestview apparent cause for a few swank chuckles. He quickly exploited the event. Needless to say, Henry was a solemn person and dared not even peep when he was near his superiors at his job. He was not an outwardly jolly person, and his jesting nature was always sequestered away, locked behind his expressionless cyan eyes. Sighing quietly, he grasped the handle to the door of his BMW and shoved himself out into the viscous, shy night air.
Henry immediately regretted disembarking from his car. His boss, Mr. Krauser, met Henry's steely gaze and seemed to seize it as he escorted him to the conference room. Krauser always made it his mission to keep all rooms that he enters even weekly to be more frigid than Pencey in the winter. His mantra was âkeep 'em cold, keep 'em focusedâ and his gruff manner and partiality to fruit flies in his office kept everyone at Sycorax Publishing Co. just that.
âOur sales are up 423.564565% since we employed the Scrum method of working. This leads me to believe that this method has kept the staff alert, excited, and able to produce more adequate products. Customer satisfaction is up 13.6782174948 percent, as...â his voice trailed off and his words echoed inside the mind of Henry Crestview, who drifted farther into the realm of slumber while being guided by Krauser's bland, soothing tone of speaking.
Krauser had an eye for specifics, and Henry had an eye for vagueness. When opposites mix, they produce an ugly brown color reminiscent of the shade of sienna that the conference room was painted in. Henry thought that the shade was employed by the designers of the room to conceal the festering horde of fruit flies on the surface. They actually intended the brown to specify the glare of Krauser.

Henry was jolted awake from his brief sojourn by his best friend Kain Strackfield. âone more foul move 'n 'ol Krausey'l wring ya, mate,â Kain warned. He was Heartland Australian.
âit always works to blame incidents like this on narcolepsy. It always moves the targeting crosshair from your head to your shoulder,â Henry returned.
Krauser was one of those people whose face was as menacing as his name. That being, he had three scars on his eyes and forehead from his 27 tours in 'Raq and his year in Afghanistan. He was born in the swamps of Louisiana, which had been swallowed by the sea after a climate shift from rising sea levels. Krauser boasted that he would wear SCUBA gear and dive down to grab some of his family's heirlooms from his submerged abode, but never actually has tried. When he spoke those words to someone alone and the other person chuckled, he tore them a new face with his marine hand-to-hand. It goes without saying that Nero Regicide Krauser was not to be trifled with.
Henry quickly realized by the look on Krauser's twisted face that he was in hot water being asleep again. But before that thought exited his mind, Krauser was already upon him. He spouted the lava like words âyou're fired!â with infinite contempt.
Henry argued for a while, but realized he was fighting a losing battle. He packed his bags and departed. Kain tried to argue the point that Henry was positive for morale of the staff, but he also got the ax. So he too gathered every item that was even remotely his and bolted to assist Henry in his loss.
Henry was fuming over the loss of his job, but decided he was going to get it back. He was versatile, cunning, and had the help of an Australian businessman. He couldn't lose. He and Kain immediately began their B. P. P. (Beg Preparation Planning, for those who don't know) to regain their upper class jobs.
Krauser turned them down harshly. He had turned admonishing soliloquies into one of the finest art forms known to man, and Henry felt almost as if he was a minor character in an epic, fierce ballad. Henry had actual hopes for a small while of retaining his job, but things are never as they seem when Krauser is on a rant. Henry's countenance gradually slackened until it showed the utmost sadness, and Krauser finished with a graceful swoop of the hands and an exclamation of âGood Day Sir!â
Henry departed with Kain in tow, and nearly vomited at the sensory torture of the horrid brown walls, fruit flies, and frigid 12-degree temperature. Henry was depressed. He returned home to his penthouse, and pondered his future while watching The View with Kathie Lee Gifford and Regis & Britney. Their surface-level views of the world bored Henry to tears, then to sleep.
The next day, the pain of Henry's losses barely permeated him. His world being destroyed had given him eerie serenity and a clear mind. Kain was taking unemployment a bit hard, and was meditating in a forest while simultaneously hunting deer. Whenever a buck would cross him, he would hum softly and slowly pull the trigger, the Zen âguiding his shotâ. Henry saw no point in his exercise, and left.
When Henry was strolling on to his penthouse, dillydallying to peer at employment notices, a particular offer jumped at him. An enormous ad vouching for a position as a publishing agent for Pocket Books Publishing, ltd. Henry smirked, and picked up the phone.
Epilogue
Henry called to Kain to help him with a critique. Their career at Pocket Books Publishing had blossomed, and they had both bought luxurious houses and a gilded lifetime. All was well, for the time being...

***I'm only in 6th grade, so please don't criticize me about things such as my writing not being the caliber of an adult's.***