the desperate editor(3/4)

The editor is driving his car, rather furiously.

He had never jumped a signal nor crashed to an automobile nor had a bleeding nose nor seen a group of police cars glaring in his rear mirror.

On this unfortunate night, events unfolded when he decided to meet a stranger.  Well, the editor certainly wants to change the course of eight hours but he can’t…

“That stupid letter…” the editor resented.

“Oh..You think that this is going to be easy, Old man.” The stranger shouted, “Go fast for chr…”

“Shut the f…”

Eight hours ago, editor began to search for the details in the letter. He came to know that the frank’s son lost his share in the company and even served in jail for a few years. The local media recently wrote an article “the arrogant heir of nothing ” with a picture of him. It is clear for the editor’s eye that he is onto drugs. The editor follows a thread of contact and finally,

The editor meets the prodigal son at the twelfth hour at an abandoned warehouse. He removes the fluids and began to wake the son.

“Harry,..” the editor asks to confirm as he looked even worse than he was in the yesterday’s newspaper. Editor gets him to the car and began to drive, being ignorant of the future.


-Thank you for reading.

the desperate editor (2/4)

the desperate editor (2/4)

On the third floor, I sat looking at the splendid view of the sixth hour in the morning. I could see the construction of a skyscraper that is supposed to be a publishing agency.

“I’ve warned you, Frank. I guess that your blood always serves a thick skull…” My friend continued on the phone, “Watch the news…” In fact, I wasn’t shocked. It was more of a comfort for an old man, who had imagined the worst.

“The kid of southern estate caught in the highway of…” Said a guy on TV, with rhythm.

“I think that there should be a trial for inheritance. This is..” A debate among the scholars. I knew that my days are numbered and my only grandkid would live the rest of the riches in ten years.

Upon the sun rising from the east, the golden light reflected from the third floor of the agency. He knew that it is impossible to change the kid and clever enough to figure out that he wouldn’t be alive to see the result. With the slightest ray of hope, he took a pen and started to write a letter.


‘To the most dedicated editor on the third floor,

I write this on the day of 2005, to reach you at 2015. I could see people working to construct your building. They even started little early on this morning. I hate to waste your time and also, I don’t have a habit to take favors.

I bought some shares for you in exchange that you find my grandkid and if he’s alive, I want you to change his lifestyle. I tried all the ways I could and on this morning, I thought to give you a story to edit. The remaining information to acquire the ownership of the shares will be found in the progress of your mission. I wish you with all my heart and a great fortune.


 Frank Nerovik



Thank you for reading…


the desperate editor (1/4)

\\”This is a story of an old man, living through the last phase of life in a house made of paper and rocks until the fate began to introduce chaos and so, he was forced to make a deal…”\\

“Why does it take so long to end a sentence, for Christ’s sake…?” The editor said to himself. Rumors overweighed his obsessions and even tagged him with ‘T.D.E’.

“Do you know that he rejected ‘the pale man’ draft citing that it is too long…” The tall lady says to her friend.

“It is a bit long, though…” Her friend replied.

“Who cares… That went on for a best seller. What a huge loss to our firm…” She snorts back. As everyone began to push the trash to one person who can handle, the editor went on printing the dots.

Nothing unusual had happened in both his drafts and his life until the clock struck the 1500hrs on a warm day. A young man in yellowish-brown uniform walked inside the agency with an untidy hair. His nose seems particularly long if anyone had given a glance.

“Uh…Excuse me..” The ringing phones muted his tone, “Hello Miss, Delivery for your boys on the second floor…”.

“Who is it for?” hold phones in both her hands,

“To the dedicated writer on the second floor…” He reads the address on the envelope.

“I’ll take care of it.” She gives a smile and offers her hand. Upon the lovely gesture, the young man extends his hand and walks away. Assuming it to be a fan mail, she throws it directly into the bin. Sometimes a letter won’t need a name to reach the destination. All it takes is the lines that could connect the dots.

While some other guy came to use the bin, he sees the unopened envelope. He keeps it on his desk and while he decides to take the lunch, he uses a stapler to weigh it down. The office boy, who takes the stapler assumes that the letter is delivered to the wrong floor. When he reaches the second floor, his eyes misread ‘the dedicated’ and thus the post written by a stranger aged 10 years, flew into the hands of a desperate editor…


Thank you for reading…