hey.. this is the shortstory I wrote.. it's one of my gazzilion homeworks this weekend :p anyway, I know it just sounds like it's about Christian ethics, but I just wrote it that way because that's what I beleive in... anyway, it's supposed to be about how there are so many things everydy that we are sort of forced into doing with school, work, basically surviving that we probably don't beleive in. It's kinda cruddy, but whatever. I know it's kina bleak because it doesn't really say there's anything to to about it, but sometimes that's the way life feels.
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Angelo Luca Michael Tataglia typed apathetically, wondering what the purpose was of typing the firm’s ancient files into new files on the computer. He jolted upright as Mr.Mund dropped a heavy set of new files onto his desk. Mr.Mund never did anything thing by himself unless he had self promoting or sadistically pleasing reason to do it. Angelo wondered if he would even find a reason to fight for his job that suffocated him if Mund would try to fire him. Angelo couldn’t imagine how he had startled him so, considering how corpulent he was and the intention he had in his strides.
"Good afternoon, sir…. I think," Angelo nodded politely and searched for a clock.
Mr.Mund eyed him in a way which Angelo hoped was not suspicious, even though he had done nothing wrong.
"What’re you afraid of, boy?" He asked maliciously.
"I’m note sure what you mean, sir," Angelo responded as he remembered his elderly parents who depended on him.
"What scares you?" Angelo was slightly reassured that Mr.Mund was not directly threatening him. "Personally, I’m not a fan of wasted time or money… my firm… the fear of losing it, anyway. Not afraid, but I’m no fan of sick people weighing everyone down."
Angelo wondered what he thought was wasted money, as Mund was notorious for his expensive, albeit tasteless, eccentricities.
"Tataglia!" He pronounced the silent ‘g’, "What scares you?"
"Evil, sir," he said as he hid a sketch of St. Michael, the Archangel into his pocket, out of fear that he would be accused of laziness.
Mund chortled, his face turned red with the effort of emotion. He lumbered off, blatantly amused by Angelo’s answer.
It was already dark when Angelo returned to his small apartment. The road had been covered in slush and the sidewalks were slippery with ice, but he didn’t mind because it had made the traffic lights and illuminated windows all the more reassuring.
His father was asleep in a chair when he opened the door. Even though he was nearly bald, his remaining hair was still black like Angelo’s, which was short and thick. His mother was probably asleep on the only bed in the apartment, as she rarely had the strength to leave it. He ate a quick meal of bread and cheese, and began to draw.
Angelo had never considered art as a profession because it was impractical, giving his current situation. His family had owned a small store until the economy went sour, and Angelo had to take care of his aging parents. His job at the firm was the best job he could find, having little education outside of highschool.
He loved the fluidity of his pencils, the way the felt scratchy and smooth at the same time against the paper. The sound was soothing and calmed his nerves, but he couldn’t get rid of his thoughts from work. He decided to draw Mund as a pleasant, decent person, but it proved to be impossible.
"Why is my job like a battle? Why do I feel like some enemy agent around my coworkers that Mund favors?"
The next day, Angelo was assigned to be a makeshift messenger, as Gabriel was sick at home. Gabe was the only person in The Firm who Angelo would consider a friend, and he always seemed to be fighting off sickness.
Sighing gently he took a package down the long hallway of sterile grey walls, up the stairs, which were only a slightly darker grey, and into Chastity’s office, which was decorated in bright reds. Angelo was always depressed by Chastity, because she certainly didn’t live up to the connotations of her name. She was very fond short skirts, low cut tops, and, apparently, Mr.Mund. He quickly put the package on her desk and hoped she hadn’t noticed him as she continued facing the wall, filing. Filing her nails, anyway. He quietly and quickly left the office.
"What’re you doin’? It isn’t you lunch break yet," Mund’s outburst made Angelo falter and nearly fall down the flight of stairs.
"I’m sorry, sir, I was filling in for Gabe today…"
"Gabe… right. O’grady, that one, I think. I’m gonna let him go. Not a ‘team player’, you know?"
"You can’t do that! He does his work well enough, doesn’t he? Being social isn’t part of the job description..."
Mund had a foreboding way of looking at a person, making one reconsider their words the moment they are formed. He was holding a manila folder, the sight of which made Angelo’s blood run cold. He had hidden his sketches from his lunch hours (twenty minutes in reality) and the spare moments when he wasn’t being monitored by the other workers in the building. He wondered how he had come across them? They were locked inside the filing cabinet, and noone had a use of the archaic documents in Angelo’s office.
"I wouldn’t be worry about him right now."
"Mr.Mund, I’ll work twice as hard, just don’t fire m…"
"I want you to work on advertising."
Angelo was taken aback. His mind reeled. Secretly he thought of Mund as cruel and immoral man, evil even, and his art was his sanctuary. Would he be able to draw for him when he could barely stand to draw him? Would his artwork become tainted? A sanctuary is only a sanctuary when it is set aside for its specific use, and he feared he would lose one of the few things he enjoyed to the grips of Mund’s greed.
"I figure it’s cheaper to pay you for your regular position and have you advertise for us than to hire someone professional. You don’t seem to be very productive otherwise and I’m inclined fire you right now."
"Yes, sir," something was crying out in pain deep inside Angelo, and he could only block out the sorrowful shrieks.
For the next few weeks Angelo tried and tried again to fit Mund’s expectations of his work. Each time they could not agree on what should be done. It could be seen as artistic differences, but that would be giving Mund far too much credit.
"Come on, Tataglia, sex sells!"
"I’m not entirely sure what you want, sir," he said thickly, his eyelids heavy for sleep. He knew what Mund wanted. He would simply refuse to deliver. He would fight. War would be declared, and they were both prepared for battle.
" I won’t do it."
"What you say, boy? I think you’d best rethink whatever the Hell is going through your head. Draw something, and get it done quickly."
"Of course, sir, I just meant I didn’t like that particular idea." He had retreated. How could he have been such a coward? He had to do something. How could he support his elderly parents without submitting to Mund’s demands? He could find another job. He could find another job. He could...
Chastity waltzed into the room, pouting about something. A revolting smile crawled across Mund’s visage. His eyes seemed smaller and his expression more twisted than usual.
"Mr.Mund, why does Catherine get the good parking space?"
Angelo sighed in disgust. No one seemed to notice. No one ever seemed to notice the things that depressed him. No one noticed the cruelty because everyone was used to it, which just made it worse.
"I can’t fight you now. I can’t fight you while I’m still breathing." Angelo took off with heavy strides. I can’t fight him because he doesn’t realize he must fight the evil within him.
T3l-l 3/l/D | 
