Tranquillity

He did not matter. Mr Wyatt was the Senior Manager of Publications at the LFP, and he did not matter. Of the many hectic, furious years spent in the company, he could not recall one single moment of content. Why, from the perspective of a Senior Manager, or any staff or high manager for that matter, one would assume that the lack of content would mean productivity (we would like to aspire to think so), and productivity is key to a fertile, growing and maybe, maybe even a happy environment. Of course, that would imminently rely on the team of employees, their attitude towards work, the company, the core values, etc.
They are happy. Conversing with each other, sharing stories, recalling anecdotes from a wedding party the whole crew went along to the other year. On the house, mind you; defined by one quick-witted member as a corporate competitor analysis and investigation scheme, thereby stating that 26 people should promptly be granted a privilege of a week’s leave to Los-Angeles. The others fell for it, not surprisingly so. That slick, ingenious smile of his - mesmerizing, full of empathy, with a slight hint of pity. He pities us, bollocks! As if Mr Wyatt, the big head, can’t get himself a nice cruise by St. Lucia booked and ready to leave in a few hours. We are the game-changers, the magnates of the world, ready to invest, sponsor and promote!

With all of this in mind, you might be tempted to think that a pesky trip to Los-Angeles is amateurish, awkward, even embarrassing - just imagine the 26 employees crammed into 5 wagons, all steadily trailing on to the City of Angels. One would be tempted to ridicule such a flimsy trip to a relative’s wedding in a city soaked with crime, high death rates and other nonsensical disturbing, little things. You’d rather call it the City of Fallen Angels, a place of regret and sorrow.
What about Mr Wyatt’s cruise to St. Lucia? You know, just a weekend spent in peace and solitude, taking in the magnificent caribbean sunsets. Now, that’ll show them! They are the ones to be pitied! Mr Wyatt worked up an envious fury inside himself that day, secretly realising how miserably lonely and old he grew to be. Oh, what a fool! Right from the beginning he knew that he had nobody to care for, nobody close. That’s why he worked so hard, that’s why he became the SMP of LFP a month ago. He never had close colleagues or friends at work. He crossed everyone over, an avid lust for power driving him forward all the time.

But he did not matter. He was rated the most hated employee in an underground poll set up by a John Doe. Or so the rumours go. Mr Wyatt had a knack for being able to look pathetic and wretched in his brioni 3 piece silk suit; never leaving his comfortable crooked position, which exaggerated his very small height, he had a very disturbing nervous tick in his left eye when presenting the company’s gradual decline in sales in their latest summer advertising campaign to the board of directors, ever so emphasized by his ridiculous square glasses.

"Hey, the misanthropic miser is comin’" a quiet remark made by the VP of Marketing to his colleagues at a meeting.

Mr Wyatt was very much a pitiful man. He decided it was time to change. Having accumulated a vast amount of money, more than he ever needed, Wyatt suddenly felt a surge of regret and self-pity and hatred come over him, overhearing the painful sniggering behind his back. They were sniggering at him! Does he have any self-respect? Wyatt wanted a change -

"As a matter of fact, being a misanthrope makes one very cautious, careful, self-content, and most of all, it gives you the license to be creative in such ways as to be able to avoid socializing altogether, so long as you are happy. Think of it as self-centered utilitarianism."

The board of directors was not happy to hear him speak in such a calm, measured out, condescending tone. Everyone grew silent. Nobody had seen the other side of Mr Wyatt, but were soon doomed to find out, as he quickly and carefully grabbed an antique cigar-holder, which was lying in front of Wyatt’s abuser. He didn’t even have the time to turn around and proclaim his mighty anger, as Wyatt hit him. A hard, meticulous and carefully planned hit, right on the back of his head. The VP of Marketing promptly fell from his chair.

Oh the tranquillity, the peace and quiet that the Senior Manager of Publications had finally managed to experience was ethereal. Mr Wyatt felt good. The sort of good that you experience when you exterminate a parasite, the content that you get after ridding of a never-ending plague, a cancer that has been an indispensable part of your rotten life right from the beginning. And now, Wyatt came to the realization that it does not have to be like that! Yes, the VP of Marketing was right on that one, he is a “misanthropic miser", a discontent misanthrope who doesn’t have the guts to do, to make. Not on paper, but actual, physical achievements and breakthroughs. But now he’d done it! For the first time in his life, Mr Wyatt felt the righteous happiness that one would expect to deserve after a long and dire war with the world.
The metal-sided, dark-red mahogany cigar-holder proved to be quite lethal and merciless a weapon. He watched the tiny blot of blood form on the victim’s head, lying motionless on the soft, rich carpet of the room. Coming back to his senses (or what was left of them), Mr Wyatt started for the exit, holding his nose upwards with dignity, giving everyone a menacing, cold and brutal stare, from which one could infer that Wyatt felt that it was partly the audience’s responsibility for letting this slip out of control. He quickly opened the door and fled out of the room. After realizing what had happened, the board of directors was a place of chaos and havoc. To expect such deed carried out by the quietest, most miserable and despicable man in the sick, happy and lackadaisical community of the LFP was a very shocking experience that will be hard to forget for the years to come.

A fleet of police behind his back, Mr Wyatt was on the run. And with him, came the utter feeling of tranquillity, solitude and peace. He was now forever a changed man.

$root - whoami
content misanthrope
Dream

// Go back in time

The Repugnant Message

// To the future

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