Excerpt:

“Welcome back, America. Before we say goodnight, we will leave you with a new face, but a certainly familiar voice. She’s been entertaining us for weeks, become a face among celebrities, the beloved Amara Nash! This is Raj Malhotra, on CNN.”
“Good evening. I’m Amara, reporter and the day has, ladies and gentlemen, only just begun…”
That was how the few happiest days of my life began. It wasn’t until much later, however, that I realized I wasn’t happy of my own accord, that I understood that happiness was a finite thing. Just like energy, it could not be created or destroyed, only transferred, in this case, from one person to another. And I was at the top of the chain then, like an ultimate predator siphoning happiness from others like a six-foot-one vacuum cleaner. I was at the pinnacle and all the exultance in the world was mine for the taking.

Gripped by anticipation and driven by a desire for change, I concentrated hard on the road and tried my best not to repeat over and over the conversation I’d had with the director of Vox Mentis. Was it not enough that he had given me a pleasant change of attitude? Did I really have to hang myself up on some hope on humanity that really, people weren’t as disrespectful of themselves as they usually seemed?
As I stepped out from my Solstice, I could hear a very familiar crowd moving just behind me. Instructions to cameramen, reprimands for stepping one someone’s shoe, and just mere determination to get ahead of the lot were all easily recognizable sounds. And surprisingly, instead of being within them as I immediately thought of when I heard them, I realized they were here for me.
“Hey! Ms. Nash! Please! Just a few questions?”
I heard from all around me: recognition, reverence, awe, hate, loathing, indifference, but I only took to heart, unfortunately, the recognition. I turned around gracefully, gave them an expectant smile and waited for their surprise at my response to subside. Then a horde of questions shot at me from all corners akin of a vulture circling its prey.
“When are you be coming back to CNN, Ms. Nash?”
“Will you renew your contract, or are you looking for a less pansy employer?”
“Are the rumours that you are going to move on from journalism true?”
“Weren’t you in high school with Ms. Gonzalez?”
The questions kept coming, and they were just as inane as they had been in the morning. I smiled a lot and gave half-hearted answers. Then, finally, something of interest came from a young graduate at the back. He seemed short for his age, but stood confidently with his head held up high even though all he was carrying was a tape recorder and a microphone, like a very recent graduate.
“Headline breakers as they were, your divulgences must be devastating for Selena, the journalist-turned-actress’s future. One would think you would be kinder to your own kind.” This boy was quite funny, comparing me with an actress. I mean, he really did have quite the guts.
“I think you’re mistaken about the tenets of journalism, young man. I’m not a mere reporter, Mister…”
“Corbin. Joshua Corbin.”
“Mr. Corbin. I’m not a mere reporter; I reveal the schisms, not just their basis. I don’t reveal information, I reveal from it.”
“Highly regarded, though your principles of journalism seem at first, they seem more derived from your own achievements, than your achievements derived through them. Are you sure you’re not just bitter because she has moved on from a profession you seem to be stuck in since your graduation?”
“Is that what you think? Is it? Where I am today, I know many of you wish you were, and I wish I were no place else. And my principles have been with me since I began pursuing this, not as a career, but as an aspiration. So, please, keep your own judgments to yourself, and ask me something substantial that you can shape into your own notion of journalism in your university gazette.” I suppose that was quite harsh, but I figured you have to learn the harsher points of this competitive field sometimes, and why not start directly from within the field itself? However much I developed my self esteem by telling myself that the boy probably learnt more in those thirty seconds than he ever had in his six years of university, I knew I would go home today and reprehend myself for it. He had made me think more than anyone I had interviewed in the last two years, and not even because what he said was interesting, but because what he seemed to be saying seemed somehow true.
Ushered by time and urgency to leave that horrid frame of thought, I was forced to leave the masses and head inside the firm. As I entered though, I realized that what had seemed like an invitation earlier must be nothing more than a mere consideration for an interview. Everyone seemed hesitant to lend any kind of invitation, but this one had seemed genuine on the phone. Unfortunately though, standing on the entrance mat that hadn’t been cleaned in a decade, it wasn’t a revelation that they were going to be the same as the rest. I could not see one receptionist sitting on a desk, and clearly no one there seemed ready to receive me. Devastated, I realize I had neither researched for my usual stream of information that I did for interview, and nor did I know anything exceptional about the firm that the bunch of doohickies that had cornered me outside wouldn’t have figured out for themselves.
Regardless, I had no time now, my appointment was in a minute sharp, and I hadn’t even talked to one of the receptionist’s yet! I scanned the room and came across one receptionist who had just put down her phone.
“Excuse me, but I have an appointment right now?”
“Oh. My. God. You’re Zoya, right? Zoya Nash?”
“Um… yes. I have an appointment with Mr.