fact or fiction
Is it a fact or is it merely fiction? Fact or Fiction explores the lesser known truths in the corporate culture of Journal.
Spend It Wisely
My alarm clock basically slapped me in the face this morning, making sure I got out of bed. It might as well have thrown cold water over me. It was that painful. I could hear it nagging at me, "Come On! GET UP! You don't want to lose your job, do you?!" No, but that doesn't mean I wanted to go either.
By Michael Devlin5 years ago in Journal
The Eye
It was a rainy summer evening in New York City, the type that made you feel as though anything could happen. The sound of the cool water hitting the tired, hot pavement, and filling the air with a sort of fog that made everything familiar to you appear in a distorted view almost called for something different or chaotic to happen. It was Penny Lipton’s favorite kind of night. Yes, her name was Penny Lipton and she hated it —it sounded like a brand of boxed tea or the name of a girl down the street who always wore her hair in pigtails. In actuality, Penny did not come remotely close to either of these things. She was short and scraggly and her hair never really did what she wanted it to. Her clothes were always dark and the only bright thing about her was the random streak of color in her hair — it was her own act of rebellion against its constant need to fight being tame. Currently it was purple, and would change at any given moment for no particular reason or purpose.
By Kathryn Kornacki5 years ago in Journal
“I’m going to need a bigger bag”
Here I am at the bank, again, cashing in my winnings. I dressed as inconspicuously as possible. Although, I feel like everyone is looking at me right now. Maybe is it because of my sunglasses while it’s well lit inside and pouring rain outside, I don’t know. I guess it’s near-miss/10 for this look then. Anyway, while the cashier brings over my $20,000 in cash as I requested for the first time, I prepare some space in my purse and I see my little black book. To the untrained eye, it looks like a regular notebook but let me tell you, it’s far more precious. This is how I managed to “make a living” shall we say. I don’t want to call it magic but let’s say it’s a gift from the future. I got it by complete chance. In a way, it was my luckiest day on god’s green earth. It’s the most fascinating story. Hear me out.
By Antoine Clerc-Renaud5 years ago in Journal
The Billionaire
In this brief ‘story’, I will attempt to describe the journey that has led me to participate in this competition. I will also describe just how significant my little black book has been for me, along with a few other books and mentors I have been so fortunate to encounter. At this point in my life, I was at an all time low after having had my wrestling career end abruptly and unexpectedly due to an injury and dropping out of college. After working several jobs that definitely weren’t career worthy, and unintentionally losing the only two I really liked, and wanting to continue wrestling somehow, I made up my mind that my last option was to pursue a career in MMA.
By Trevon Lawson5 years ago in Journal
New Beginnings
Morning sunlight reaches through sheer white curtains. A soft, sleepy groan comes from the pile of pillows and blankets on the bed by the window. With a dramatic heave, Renée pulls herself out of the depth of her dreams. She stumbles half asleep into the bathroom and into the shower. Her daughter, Zoey, sleeps sweetly, nestled in the innocence that only surrounds toddlers.
By Rain Kendall5 years ago in Journal
An Author's Legacy
Marcie pulled into the long-paved driveway of 1832 Westcastle Court and forced her Volkswagen into Park with a clunk. As she kicked the driver's door open with her foot, she dragged a loaded cardboard box across the center console and wrestled it out of the car with her. Blowing the black hairs out of her eyes, she set the box to rest on the hood of the car and began fishing through its contents.
By Michelle Pattison5 years ago in Journal
Everything Was About to Change
She barely caught the train. Not that another train wouldn’t be coming by in fifteen minutes, but the 1 train ran local and it was already going to be another forty-five minutes before the train got to her stop at 231st Street, the second to last stop on the 1 line. She was out of breath but she made it. Whew!
By Lisa R Barry5 years ago in Journal
