The Role of Journalism

Then, after a while, they forgot about me in jail and gave me time to read books and learn everything I know. When it was the tenth anniversary of the massacre, a news chanhistory-of-literaturenel from the country where the incident took place came to interview me. I was no longer that person who had committed those crimes. I spoke to them about fame, about the encyclopedia, about everything I was doing to grow as a human being. I was then asked about what I thought about the boy who had lost his parents and his two brothers during my mass murder spree. I told them I knew the story and that, at the time, I had felt real bad for the boy, but had now lost track of him.

The journalist pulled the ace from under his sleeve and asked me, in front of the cameras, if I wished to talk to him. “We are on live television”, he said, and he is willing to talk to you. The boy had been, at first, a burden to me. The point of the mass killing had been the immortality of my name, and because of that fifteen year old boy, I was forced to share the headlines.

I was unbalanced, the beast, and he only a surviving victim, who had lost everything because of me. I counted his name in the press as appearing as many times as mine, and the last article I read mentioning the mass killing was two years after it happened. The boy was very laid back and garrulous and journalists loved him; he was also very good at explaining his emotions. I also always knew that he was my invention, as well as I knew that I was the architect behind his five minutes of glory.

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