Angela

A satirical look at the intense individuality we demand here in America as well as the tendency to "follow the crowd". Includes a talking sun and a cat smarter than most humans.

 

Angela

Where the hell had I put those painkillers? I leaned back, my head throbbing from staring at the screen for so damned long. Apparently computer screens are bad for the eyes…who knew? I looked at the clock and frowned. It was almost noon…I’d been up all night working on the story. I desperately wanted to get some sleep, but I knew my editor would kill me if he didn’t have five more pretty little pieces of advice to put in tomorrow morning’s issue of The Naughty Donkey by 5:30 pm. I also knew that if I went to sleep now, I would stay asleep until well past that time, so that meant I had to write some articles up, immediately.

I decided to skip running to the post office to look through the snail mail my “fans” had sent me, and I’d already gone through all the mail I’d gotten yesterday, so email it was. My head screamed as I opened my eyes to go back to the computer screen, but I popped a couple of Tylenol and mumbled under my breath that it could shove it, because I wasn’t listening. Emily looked at me with one raised eyebrow.

“Shh,” I said. “I don’t speak to random body parts.” When she continued looking at me with the same expression, I looked away. “Damned cat’s smarter than most humans…it’s not natural.”

I signed into my email account and watched the screen fill downwards with messages. Insert groaning here. I looked at the door to my bedroom wistfully and yearned for sleep, but I knew that I needed to get the advice written.

I clicked on the first link, skimmed through it, and deleted it. I’d let myself slip up last night, throwing in an insignificant article about a cheating husband, but that wasn’t my thing. The next person wanted to know whether or not he should attempt to break one of the records in the Guinness Book of World Records. I opened a document and pasted the kid’s question into it, along with my response.

Over the course of the next two and a half hours, I managed to find four more interesting articles. After sending the document to my boss as an email attachment, I stretched and moved to sign out. Before I could, a new email came in. The subject line was blank, but it said it was from somebody named “the guy your mother warned you about.” I frowned; the name was a tad bit cliché. I wanted to delete it, but Emily stopped me, meowing loudly.

The pain in my head went frantic, beating against my skull and doubling me over. I looked over at her to see what was wrong but she just stared at me with wide, innocent eyes.

“Fine,” I said. “I’ll check the damned email.” I opened it up and skimmed over the question.

I stopped. I sat back. I leaned forward. I read the email again.

Three tiny words…can’t be lost, can’t be broken. Three tiny words. I sighed. So, he’d tracked me down after all. I wondered if I’d have to contend with all that bullshit love crap that abounds in the movies, where we cry and hug and kiss each other, and lament over how we should never have left each other. They say that absence makes the heart grow fonder. Perhaps I was lucky, and it wasn’t the case with him. But then, if he wasn’t still “in love” with me, why would he have emailed me?

On the up side, he was using the quote, which meant that perhaps he wouldn’t follow the cliché Hollywood theme. We’d see. I clicked the reply link and glanced at Emily, who was purring loudly. How had she known the email wasn’t from the common fan? Creepy…

I typed out a quick reply. I suddenly wasn’t tired anymore, surprisingly enough, so I went online to watch more flash videos. I needed some distraction, and laughing is always welcome.