READ YOUR NEWSPAPER NOW!

The waterways of the heavens began to pour tremendously as I prepare to

leave the mundane world of the office. I put all my stuff inside my backpack as
well as my daily ration of newspaper which I decided to feast on at home. My
station is located in the uppermost part of a 21-storey building extending the
agony of putting up with the boringness of the surrounding. The motif inside is
plain. Gray enamel paint is used strategically to contribute to the already hollow
ambience. The people are not robots, but their actions seem to be derived from
a software installed in their brains allowing them to talk and act as if they are.
Nothing interesting happens in this second world of mine. Everything is ordinary,
same old same old.
Ding! I stepped out the elevator with my yellow raincoat on. I bade farewell
to the security guard, opened my umbrella, and started to walk home. Steadily I
walked in the very busy and very drenched streets so as to arrive home in one
piece. Step by step, torrents of water continued to rush down the earth
excavating an earthy and nutty aroma of cement. Still, I carried on. The people
around me are minding their own business, constricted in their own little worlds.
So was I.
YAHAHAHAHA! A hysterical laugh broke through my current stream of
thoughts as well as my path. I wondered where it came from. I looked and saw
an old man in the middle of the street, looking up the sky, and cachinnating so
hard that his smile could reach both ends of his face. I decided to just leave him
alone and move on until he called me up and said, “Your reality is a lie. I know
this is not what you want. Make your own reality. You have the power to do so!”
Tick tock! Tick tock! It had been an hour and a half since I met this
mysterious old man, but his rather enigmatic words continued to boggle me. It
was as if he was speaking directly to my inner being, to my soul. I tried to brush
off the idea of mysticism by reading through the newspaper I brought. As I peeled
through this set of large sheets, a familiar face stared back at me. It was the old
man, his eyes sullen and his face wrinkly. On the headline, it reads: An old man
escaped Morrison Psychiatric Facility.