Hit Piece by Samuel Vu

HIT PIECE

A young man, Kyle, who lived in his parent’s basement, was in deep sleep. Around him were four indifferent pastel walls and a cluttered tiled floor. The room was motionless.

Knock knock

Kyle was pulled out of his sleep, and he became aware of the knocking at the door.

Knock knock

Eyes still closed and mind not fully awake yet, Kyle reshuffled himself in bed to get comfortable again, hoping to sleep away the noise.

Knock knock

Whoever was at the door was insistent. Kyle hated that. Begrudgingly, he slowly pulled himself out of bed, his mental state beginning to unfreeze as he stood up, and he limped to the door. Before twisting open the lock handle, he paused at the mirror on his door: his baggy faded green shirt, dirty sweatpants, and mess of hair. He shrugged it off and opened the door.

Knock knock

Who would be at the office? There had not been any clients for a while. A man sat behind his dark desk. Dim yellow light found its way into the office through the cracks of the window blinds behind the man, casting a faint shadow on his features. The man sighed, exhausted from the day’s work, feeling his heavy shoulders heave in his tight suit. Business had not been going so well. He recalled the two dozen phone calls and scores of emails he’d made that went only to deadends and unwilling contacts. Focus. It was not wise to dwell on these things. The man began a brief tidying up of his desk, reshuffling papers.

Knock knock

“Just one moment,” the man called out. He recalled calling the same damn landlord seven times in anger and desperation. The man took a deep breath. He could not keep these thoughts away. Finally, he made a quick adjustment to realign the name plate that rested on the front of his desk. Its glossy brass finish was unreadable with the light to the back of it, but it read: CEO, Kyle Pii.

Knock knock

Insistent, Kyle noted. “Come in, the door is unlocked.”

The door opened.

Knock knock

Kyle clutched his pistol, an old relic from his father’s collecting obsession. He was shaking more uncontrollably than he expected he would be. He was terrified. He knew what was coming.

Knock knock

In the moment, Kyle shuffled around nervously between standing or crouching against the wall with the door. The crouching stance made his chest feel more secure than standing but made his neck feel vulnerable.

by samuel vu

Why were they so insistent? Kyle inhaled deeply and exhaled shakily, as if on the verge of crying. Well, he was on the verge of crying. Then, there was a silence, a hissing noise from the gold-plated lock of the door, and an open door.

The Secret Society of Kyle-Haters is a lovely, welcoming organization. Join us: we insist.

The Secret Society of Kyle-Haters™ .

The Secret Society of Kyle-Haters is a lovely, welcoming organization. Join us:

we insist.

I once had a teacher that told me that his students were the reason he got out of bed in the morning. It was a nice sentiment, but the thing is that I hadn’t realized until that moment that other people had reasons to get out of bed. I couldn’t stop thinking about what mine were. And so from then on, every morning when I woke up for about the next month or so I would think to myself why? There was never a satisfying answer. Because it is what I did yesterday? Why, then, did I do it yesterday? Because I have to? According to who? Because I want to? Why do I want to? If you ask people they will tell you that they are looking forward to each new day. I find it hard to believe. I think it is one of the kind lies we tell ourselves, that our days are new. What about today is new? The date. What else? Today I will do yesterday’s tasks in yesterday's order and some things that I didn’t quite get done yesterday will be done today. And what about the things I do not get done today? They will get done tomorrow. Maybe we are living in a simulation. No really. It sounds stupid at first, but I’m starting to feel all the code of my life blend together. Was this task a yesterday task or a day before yesterday task? Does it matter? The machine runs the same thing every day. Shhh the machine God whispers. Go watch some TV. Take your mind off of it.