Dreamcatcher

Chapter Two:

I’m Okay

2:45pm…

15 minutes until my shift’s over. 5 minutes to get to the publishing house. If the meeting last for at least 30–

Knock Knock

“You need help in there?” they hollered through the door.

I eep’d and slammed the toilet handle down to cover my panic. My feathers flew everywhere while washing my claws, shoving my phone into my hoodie, and awkwardly walked past the customer waiting at the door to the stockroom. Back to the serenity of… isolation.

The boxes on pallets were the only audience I had for the longest time, listening to me talk to myself about character’s dialogue exchanges, interactions— the never ending sentences of anxiety that pulled at me to type more and more because I needed to say more, do more, and be more. Run on sentences that defined an emotion I couldn’t ever personally grasp or express in reality. A velvety cage with an open door.

Do you really think I cared about my work? Ripping, shipping, stacking, stocking… all for a clawful of bits to do what I want? It’s degrading. Being kept in that cage, a door away from everyone else. I just wanted people to see me. Fuck the bits, the fame, fuck all that. I just wanted to be me. I just want people to give me something my parents never really did. Give me the same recognition I gave these boxes.

At least time doesn’t fly when I work, it vanishes altogether. I packed up my things and clocked out before my manager could talk to me. Not that it would be anything more than him boosting his ego asking the rhetorical question: “How’s the writing go?”

Fuck that guy, honestly.

I tumbled more than ran to the publishing house. You couldn’t blame me for the excitement. It was the first time one of these places actually asked me to come… only took hundreds of tries. But man did that three story brick building look like a heavenly castle to my eyes.

The waiting room was packed from corner to corner with different writers, all like me, completely submissive to hope. I had to squeeze past a few ponies to get to the extremely unimpressed zebra receptionist. He glanced me up and down. “Yeah, bud?”

“I have an appointment with mister Brass Ego. I’m the writer of CyberPone.”

Each second he tapped away at his computer added fuel to the pyre of my anxiety. The receptionist printed off a set of paper, quickly stapled it and passed it to me.

“Second floor, take the first bend on the right and it’ll be the room on your right. You got that? Okay, also give these to Ego. He doesn’t like printing out anything.”

“Ermm… thanks…?” I raised a brow, only to be gestured to go. That was a sound suggestion as a line formed behind me.

Was everyone there just waiting to follow that one writer with the balls to talk to the zebra at the desk? Holy shit, how are they going to handle their meeti— scratch that. I needed to worry about myself.

I zoomed up the stairs, trying not to run straight into employees just doing their job. It’s a weird feeling when you walk through halls like that. This could be your future. That office you passed could be yours one day. You could even own the building… but you have to give up a part of yourself. If all this went through and I got the deal, what would life be like after I don’t have to work on the story anymore? Will I still be the same person or— fuck. Fuck! These fictional characters I spent restless nights stressing over are just… Am I just abandoning them?!

An explosion of fear froze me in front of the office door. I really can’t believe that I spent so much time worrying about the worldbuilding, character development, and fuck knows what just to distract myself from everything that comes after. Oh shit, what if people hate it? I-I can’t have that! I mean what have I been doing with the last seven years of my life then! Is there any point to all of this?! Am I screaming into tomorrow demanding inspiration for today? Who a—

“I can see you,” A voice from within the room called out. “Are you coming in?”

The first thing I noticed entering that office was the ungodly amount of plaques and filing cabinets. Who was he trying to impress the janitor? I doubt anyone like me could feel anything past the fear sitting down in such an oppressive environment. With the amount of empty soda bottles hidden just behind the desk, I doubt he was getting a ton of “A-List” clients. The second thing I noticed was the little statuette, in front of him, of a pony with way too many belts.

“So Sci-Fi, huh?” Brass Ego scoffed as he looked over my documents.

“Y-yeah.”

“You know Eggnog recently sent us his new book and man is it doing numbers! You’ve read his work before, right?”

It wasn’t fair, but I bit my tongue. “I think so… he’s the one who puts paintings in his pages?”

“Bingo!”

But he always was a shit writer that relies more on visuals than actual words. I mean come on, dude. If you wanna make a film then go make one or just be an artist.

“So what do you think?”

It was alright. “I loved it.”

“Cool cool!” Brass Ego leaned back into his oversized chair. I began tapping my claws on the desk as he started to whistle. Seriously?! When was it my turn? I couldn’t believe that this guy was the bouncer for the fucking door. Could you imagine slaving away years of work just to be told no by a pony who lives in a recycling machine.

“Sooo,” He sat back up. “Why are you here again?”

“Uhhh… I-I have a–”

“Spit it out! I don’t get why people are so shy.” He might as well have actually punched me in the throat.

“I’m a writer.” I barely managed to whimper it out.

Brass Ego looked me up and down. “Well, you certainly fit the look of one. Look…”

I perked up a little in my chair.

“This work isn’t bad,” He paused before continuing with his verbal dagger. “But the publishing house just can’t really invest so much into an unpublished writer. Though we have been looking into your style and think you’d fit well into one of our intern roles.”

My heart skipped a beat.

“Intern?”

“That’s right.”

“So you want me to work for you for free?” I raised a brow.

Brass Ego shook his head before putting on his fakest fucking smile. “Not at first, but after a few months of you editing, reviewing, gaining connection, and after doing a great job I’ll be more than happy to discuss publication with you. Maybe even a full time position here.”

There was no way this asshat was expecting me to survive on the leftover coffee in the drinks I got him, did he? Being a slave for a few months and either losing yourself and climbing or hanging yourself three weeks in. Sounded so perfect for someone like me!

“Right.” It was the only response I could muster without a swear.

He sighed. “Listen, you understand that this is a very competitive business? If your work fails to make profit then the publishing house wasted money. We just want to know more about you before we fully review your work.”

“I understand that. Though I’m failing to understand why your business calls me back not to discuss my story but to proudly offer someone to work for free.”

“Listen, we got somewhere. Not everyone can be Eggnog. He was just in the right place at the right time. Luck is funny like that sometimes and everyone is not as luc–”

“What,” I had to cut him off. “What are you talking about? I know Eggnog’s history. His daddy helps fund this place and he’s even best friends with your boss’s son!”

“That’s not the point.”

I cocked my head to the side. There was no fucking way this dude was trying to dodge the topic. “Seriously? That’s your fallback argument. I– no! Don’t try to dodge this. Eggnog basically won this because he’s rich and knows powerful ponies. He’s not 60,000 bits in debt.”

“No,” Brass’s Ego was clearly getting a little bruised. Good. “He fought for everything. That boy picked himself up by his–”

“Don’t fucking lie.”

“You know. Forget about the offer. Clearly you’re a little spoiled.”

“Oh yeah?”

“I’ll be forward. You don’t fit. You don’t belong here,” He hit his desk with every word. “If you can’t respect someone like Eggnog or me then why am I even–”

I forced myself away from the deck, knocking my chair on the floor. The space I was creating was the only thing keeping the lights on in Ego’s head. “Thank you for your time.”

“No, no. Thank you and no more talkin–”

‘Hey!” I snarled back. “If you wanna boss me around then you should pay me.”

The conversation was over in one slam of the door.