Djamila Khellef
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Hool
I was at work: in my room, on my chair, at my desk, in a bad posture. I had gotten, during the week, to a sort of casual, accepting, automatic zombie brain: executing tasks, not being very present but also kind of peaceful about it. I was on my phone, I got the news there. The first article or post about it is always the most shocking, those words put together are so unsightly. Not emotional yet, but loud and flashy as an impact. A beautiful singer from my province dies in his thirties. Too young to expect that sort of news from him. I have to take a call, process a task. He was found in his apartment; it looks like a suicide even if nothing is confirmed yet. Everyone is aching, everyone is stunned. Online, I mean, because only a few of my colleagues would share the hurt of the news: I work for a big Canadian company, people are from all over the country, but not everyone in the country knows him. He was too big to be a local artist though. He was specific to his culture. I go about finishing my day.
By Djamila Khellef4 years ago in Humans
