Burn After Reading
Chapter 1:
The Mugdown Family Household
“Li-ttle-Mug..Li-ttle-Mug..Li-ttle-Mug..” a low chant from the youngest generation of Mugdowns as Lil Muggie focused his field of vision, narrowing his eyes and widening his stance before letting the small blue dart swiftly fly from between his fingertips. Everyone in the room sucked in their breath as the needle found its destination, “BULLSEYE!”
A collective eruption of cheers shot across the room as Papa Mug clapped his son on the shoulders in congratulations. “Now THAT’S how you play Nail-The-Batt,” he heckled, “You show ‘em how its done now.” Lil Muggie made his way across the game room, his cousins roughly patting his back with glee. He reached the dartboard and smugly examined where his dart found its mark. He reached to wiggle the blue pin free from between the eyes on the cutout face of Father Batt, the cardboard peppered with holes and tattered from years of use. The head of the household and Editor in Chief of The Battalion, Father Batt, had been the sworn enemy of the Mugdowns for generations. Their family stood against everything that the Mugs lived for; joy, laughter, camaraderie, and the restless energy riding the winds of inhibition that was life, the backbone of the Mugdown family values.
“Alright now y’all settle down over there!” Mama Mug called out from the kitchen. “Oh yeah, don’t get too excited now calm down everyone,” chastised Papa Mug in response with a small smile still dancing on his lips as he looked at his son proudly. Mama Mug walked through the doorway balancing a tray of food on her hips and jugs of drinks between her fingertips. Lil Muggie walked over and took the precariously perched plates of food to place on the dining table as Mama Mug called out, “Dinners ready! Get in here y’all.” Smile plastered faces filed through into the dining room to the table and took their seats, ruckus male voices chattering over each other.
Lil Muggie slid into his seat next to Papa Mug at the head of the table and scooted his chair in. Papa Mug cleared his throat authoritatively, and the table quieted down. Lil Muggie instinctively laced his fingers through his father’s and reached for his cousin’s hand on the other side of him as they bowed their heads. Papa Mug began to recite a prayer. “Dear 500-ton, infinitely large immortal God, knows and controls everything in the world, so omnipotent, we just thank you for all the articles we have published this year and the 420 million followers – YEAH!,” the table echoes back a series of cheers, “on our social media that we have accrued over this last year. We thank you for this family and our unbreakable bond. We pray that you may continue to bless this family and our business by showing your neverending wrath on the sin-filled monstrosity and blight upon this earth that is the Battalion family. May you condemn them to hell for generations to come, and may their souls suffer in the eternal flame of damnation. May you sentence each of their newborns to a lifetime held in the hands of Satan. Amen.” A chorus of voices recited back, “Amen,” and lifted their heads and started to reach for the heaps of food placed in front of them.
The Battalion Family Household
You look stressed Dad, everything okay?” says Batista as he helps his dad set the table for dinner. Batista Batt, the third child and future Editor-In-Chief of the Battalion family empire when Father Batt steps down, is home for the first time in months since completing his Master’s in Journalism from NYU. “Everything is fine, just some stuff from work,” Father Batt says with a tight smile as he looks at his wife. Mama Batt looks at him with concern, knowing there’s more to that answer than he is willing to foretell.
”Go get your siblings Batista, your mother made a fantastic dinner, and we don’t want it to go cold.” Batista rushes upstairs to get his siblings: Bethany, Bates, and Lil Battie. Mama Batt goes over and wraps her arm across Father Batt’s shoulders, squeezing, “You need to tell them soon, they are all so worried, and keeping this news to yourself won’t do you any good. Everyone is going to find out eventually.” Father Batt nodded slightly but remained quiet. The stairs thumped with the sound of footsteps as the children all rushed downstairs excitedly like it was Christmas morning and they had been good kids all year. This dinner will be the first in years that the Battalion family has been together since their eldest children Bethany and Bates Battalion moved to the coasts to build their own media company. Father Bates did not want to ruin the mood on the momentous occasion.
As the streets outside darkened and the lamps flickered on inside the Battalion home, the sound of laughter rose from the dining room, and bickering chatter between the Battalion children, not heard in years, brought a warm smile to Mama Batt’s face. The night’s dinner is garlic butter baked salmon, potatoes, and HEB Hawaiian rolls. It is a known fact that the Battalion family is known for their strict pescatarian diet because of Father Batt’s belief that any man that eats meat is kind of suspicious, so he implemented this same rule on all of his children, and of course, his wife.
Father and Mama Batt take their seats as the head of the household at the opposite heads of the elongated mahogany table hutting through the dark, victorian-style living room of their soaring mansion. The four children set their plates for dinner, taking their unofficial official seats they unconsciously assigned to themselves in their youth. This dinner was one of the happiest of their lives, childhood stories both embarrassing and nostalgic flew across the room. Laughter from Father Batt roared so deep that it could be mistaken for an earthquake, and Mama Batt soaked it all in, hoping all nights could be as great as this one, knowing these moments were fleeting. In the midst of the nostalgic moment, the sound of the house phone’s shrill rings interrupted not a few times, but to no one’s care or attention, they were completely in the moment and didn’t want to put a halt to this short and sweet family.
Lil Battie eventually gets up to use the bathroom, letting out a hefty sigh as he rises from the dining table, feeling full of food. The shrill ring of the landline once again begins its song, he stops to find out the culprit of this pestering phone call. He picks up the phone and lets out a smile so bright it makes the sun weep of jealousy. The call is from his favorite uncle, Mr. Opinion Battalion, a strong backbone in the Battalion family empire.
Lil Battie: “UNCLE OPINION, how are you?
Mr. Opinion: Is that Lil Battie? How are you? You must be so old now, it has been too long since we have spoken!
Lil Battie: I’m doing good, everyone is back for the first time in so long, and I can’t believe that a family dinner is actually not boring.
Mr. Opinion: That’s great to hear Lil Battie, is there a way I could talk to your dad? I know it’s late but there’s some urgent work stuff I have to talk to him about. It’ll be quick, and you guys can go back to your dinner.
Lil Battie sets the phone away from his face as he directs his yell towards the dinner table, “Dad, it’s Uncle Opinion, he says it’s something about work and needs your attention right away.” Mama Batt looks at her husband as he gets up from his seat, her former expression of joy has been replaced with a look of despair and concern, knowing that her wish for a peaceful family dinner was too good to be true.
Lil Battie hands the phone over to his dad and dashes straight to the restroom. Through the doors, he hears the joyful chatter die down and an air of silence fill the household. From the dinner table, we hear the raised voice of Father Batt on the phone in short, brief phrases.
“I THOUGHT WE HAD MORE TIME”
“THEY CAN’T DO THIS TO US”
“IS THERE ANY WAY FOR US TO AT LEAST BREAK THE NEWS OURSELVES?”
“I’LL SEE YOU FIRST THING TOMORROW MORNING”
Father Batt heads over to the dinner table, meeting the confused looks of his children, his wife’s head bowed down in a grimness. He inhales, mustering the confidence to say a word. His head was down as if he just got news of a flood coming and there was no room left on Noah’s Ark. For the first time, his kids saw him defeated, and their minds could not grasp the concept of their dad not being invincible.
“Dad, what’s wrong? Did something happen? What did Uncle Opinion want to speak to you about?” asked Lil Battie, being the brave one to cut the silence with the knife. Father Batt looks at him, then at his siblings, and finally at his wife, giving them all the same look of despair and hopelessness.
Father Batt responded with a slow sigh, “Lil Battie—”
The Mugdown Family Household
A loud “Ding!” chirped from a phone as Papa Mug’s face lit up with the light from the screen as he raised it to read the notification. His lips parted in shock, and a quiet gasp from him made Lil Muggie turn to his father and ask, “What is it, Dad?”
Papa Mug raised his eyes to meet Lil Muggies and looked around the room with a small smile and a sparkle in his eyes. He turned the phone to show the table, ‘BREAKING: THE BATTALION TO CEASE PUBLICATION, ORDERED BY NEW ADMINISTRATOR KATHY BANKS’.
Chapter 2:
The Battalion Newspaper Office
Words are flying across the Battalion office as the company hurdles together in a frantic fashion to fight the existential threat facing their company.
“WHAT ARE YOU HEARING?”
“WHERE IS MR. SPORTS BATTALION?”
“TEAMWIDE MEETING IN AN HOUR, WE NEED ALL HANDS ON DECK”
“ARE YOU SLEEPING RIGHT NOW?”
“IS HE SERIOUSLY SLEEPING RIGHT NOW?”
“WHEN HE WAKES UP, TELL HIM HE”S FIRED”
The order by Pres. Kathy Banks has spread like wildfire, and each individual is exhaustively looking for anything resembling a fire extinguisher.
In the midst of all the chaos, the office belonging to Father Batt has been shut and completely silent since he stepped into work that day. The blinds are drawn and the door is locked.The only indication that he was still in there was the small sliver of light creeping out the crack under his door. The only communication heard from him was a line in a company-wide email stating “Meeting at 9 AM in the breakroom.”
The clock strikes 9 AM, and with the creek of the door opening, the whirlwind in the office suddenly comes to a halt, and everyone turns towards the sound. Father Batt walks out with a whiteboard and with no care in the world for his other colleagues, heads straight to the breakroom. As the news writers gather around to take their seats, Father Batt pours himself a cup of coffee, using each sip as a countdown to when the meeting will finally start. Suddenly, he sets the cup down, faces the whiteboard, and writes one word, the only sound in the room being the squawking of the marker as he wrote in bold letters across the board:
“PROTEST.”
Father Batt, now beaming with confidence, turned around and met the eyes of his colleagues individually. Alex, a writer on the News desk, slowly raised his hand amongst the heads of his fellow writers. “What do you mean by a protest? You want us to protest our shutdown? The administrators have all the leverage-” Alex began.
Father Batt smiled and cut him off, clearing his throat, and for the first time since he got the unfortunate news at dinner last night, he was ready to talk to his workers. With a glimmer in his eye, he said with might, “Aye, fight and you may die. Run, and you’ll live, at least a while.”
Mr. Opinion mumbles to himself, “Is he quoting Braveheart right now?”
Father Batt continues, “And dying in your beds many years from now, would you be willing to trade all the days from this day to that for one chance?”
“He’s definitely quoting Braveheart right now.”
“Just one chance to come back here and tell our enemies that they may take our lives, but they’ll never take our freedom!”
The room erupted with thunderous applause, tears were streaming down each face uncontrollably. A fire had been lit in almost everyone, Mr. Opinion was more shocked that he was apparently the only person in the entire room that had seen Braveheart. It turned out that the reason Father Batt was silent in his office was because he was watching various Youtube compilation videos titled “Top 10 Most Inspiring Speeches.” Although Mr. Opinion was doubtful of the process, he couldn’t doubt the results, everyone in the room was patiently waiting for the next words Father Batt was going to say.
Father Batt confidently started, “I have a dream, that one day-”
Mr. Opinion jutted in, “Okay, let’s relax now before we get ahead of ourselves. Father Batt, what would you have us do?”
Father Batt responded, “Spread the word of a massive protest, we are not going anywhere. Tell your pastors, sisters, brothers, neighbors, friends, tell them all. Invite your wives and girlfriends, but not both,” the room laughed, “This will be the day they realize they messed with the wrong company. There will be paid protesters on the side of the Pres. Banks, however we shall not let those broke boy haters distract us. Now, let’s get to work.” A series of whoops and cheers followed Father Batt’s speech.
In a flash, the break room was empty as workers rushed out in different directions making phone calls and sending emails to every person on their phones. Father Batt headed back to his office to call his wife, who was up all night staring at her phone wondering the next time it would ring. She had been with her children bracing for impact on the collision course that the Battalion empire was set on.
Mama Batt answered, “Hello shawty! So lovely to hear from you.”
Father Batt asked, “Babe, are the kids with you?”
“Yes, they are shawty.”
“Put me on speakerphone then, baby.”
Mama Batt is heard saying mutedly through the phone, “Kids gather around, your dad has something to say to you,” the Battalions crowd around the phone.
Father Batt spoke, “As you may know I don’t have much time, I have a lot of work to do at the office. However, I will need all of your hands on deck in the coming days. I need you to make posters and spread the word of a pro-Battalion protest. We can’t let them shut our voices. I have to go now. Take care.”
The Mugdown Family Household
“Yo this sign is epic!” admired Mike Mugdown, the eldest cousin of Lil Muggies, as he looked down at his banner reading ‘BURN THE BATT’ in letters artistically framed with flames. Lil Muggie perused the posters his cousins were all painting sprawled across the living room in preparation for the protest; a couple beheaded Batts and not less than a few slurs.
The sound of someone clearing their throat made him look up from the carnage scene illustrated across his mother’s banner to see his father nod his head and signal for him to follow. Lil Muggie followed in his path into the study and shut the door behind him as Papa Mug took a seat and beckoned for him to take the chair in front of him. “You know son, I wanted to speak with you today because I’ve been thinking recently about the future of the Mugdown business. I just wanted to tell you how proud I am of you,” Papa Mug paused and gave Lil Muggie a warm smile. “Your mother and I have been speaking about how it might be time to begin the transition to the next generation of Editors. I have been Editor in Chief for many years now, and I grow old and weary. Now that The Battalion is coming to its end, I believe it is time for you to fill my shoes.” Lil Muggie was silent with shock, caught off guard. “But-but- Dad, I am not ready! I am only a writer, I’m not prepared, and I don’t know the first thing abou-” Papa Mug cut off his sentence, “Lil Muggie, we have been preparing you for your entire life for this. You are our only child. This was what you were born to do,” Papa Mug got up from his chair and patted his back, “These next few months are going to change the future of the Mugdown family name, aren’t you excited?” and left the room. Lil Muggie remained motionless in his chair, suddenly feeling overwhelmed by the responsibilities seemingly dumped on him in a fraction of a second.
The sound of Mama Mug calling out his name and ‘BEEP BEEEEP’ from the car now parked in front of the house made him start. He rose and hastened to the front porch to see his cousins squeezing into the seats of the van. Mike motioned for him to move faster, “Come on Lil Mug, we’re already late!” Lil Muggie jumped into the back seat and barely closed the door as the van screeched off onto the street, and he lurched back in his seat.
The youngest Mugdowns passed the tin of blue face paint across the seat as they smeared stripes onto their face. Lil Muggie quietly shook his head and gave the tin to Mama Mug seated in the front. She turned to look back at Lil Muggie with a concerned look, “Why so quiet sweetie? Are you sad you didn’t have time to make a poster? I am sure you can borrow one from your cousins, they made plenty to go around,” she said. Mike Mugdown turned to look at him, “Yeah Lil Mug, cheer up, this is a day to be celebrated for centuries to come, The Battalion is finally being burned to the ground,” he said with cruel laughter.
Lil Muggie, feeling frustrated and still overwhelmed from his conversation with his father snapped back, “Why are we even going to this stupid protest, it is of no consequence to us! The Battalion is already doomed, why kick a dead horse? Why does our entire family’s future have to revolve around some other newspaper? Why does MY future have to revolve around OUR newspaper?” Silence filled the car, the air seemingly sucked out of the van. Papa Mug slowed to a stop at the light and slowly turned to look him in the eyes. “Lil Muggie, do not speak such childish and ridiculous things. Where are all these thoughts coming from?” The light turned green and he turned back around. “I know you must feel pressured right now son, but don’t let your nerves deter you from our family values.”
The Battalion Protest
The scene of the protest is engulfed with people passionately voicing their stance on the policy implemented on the Battalion. Like a boxing match, in one corner was the Battalion aggressively campaigning for their right to exist and it appeared they didn’t have any signs of stopping. Men seemingly have come straight from the office, their ties askew and sweat stains soaking through their neatly pressed button-downs. In the other corner were the people who had been wronged by the reporting done by the Battalion. Voices of people whose secrets had been exposed, whose lives were shoved in the public eye as if they were nothing more than a good story. They were in attendance to support and make sure the downfall of the Battalion goes according to plan. Their spite fueled them and had no signs of slowing down. Unstoppable force says hello to an immovable object.
Father Batt drew his gaze across the lively scene and couldn’t help but feel some glimmer of hope at the sight of his supporters so gallantly defending the Battalion. A sore sight in the far right of his vision makes him let out a sigh as if his problems had somehow managed to get worse, that small kernel of hope withering down. In the corner of his eye, he sees the Mugdown family get out of their car. “As if today wasn’t already hard enough, what are they doing here?” spits Father Batt to Mr. Opinion. “I almost respect their commitment to being a hater, if only they could commit that time to writing good articles,” Mr. Opinion jokes back to Father Batt as they continue their march towards the Pres. Banks’ office, turning away from the pathetic rival family.
Two hours into the protest and the required energy needed to brave the violence and energy was just a little too much for Lil Battie and he fades into the back of the crowd, separated from his siblings. He lowered his fists with exhaustion and waded through the current of protesters towards the small path on the side of the road. Looking back at the mass of bodies, Lil Battie thought to himself and questioned why he was in attendance. He was there to support his family of course, but truly never cared much for the family business. He swiped the back of his hand across his forehead as he climbed up the small steep grass at the edge of the pathway, giving him a high vantage point of the protest. Faces streaked blue with war paint slipped through the crowd opposing his family, the Mugdowns, most likely. He didn’t even understand the beef between the Mugdown and the Battalion, but he knew better than to ask. The hours of blistering heat and unending shouts made him grow weary and his voice hoarse. He followed the path into a small clearing, approaching a bench under the cool shade of an oak tree. He sat down to gather himself and be with his thoughts for a while.
Lil Muggie is shoved to the side when Marty Mugdown, Mike’s brother, pumps his fist in the air to show off his poster and scream some incomprehensible insults across the barrier. Squished between his family members in the crowd rowdy with excitement protesting the Battalion, Lil Muggie could not help but start to wonder if this is what the rest of his life would look like. Protesting his family’s rivals, not really having a purpose of his own, always having to follow in his father’s footsteps, he started to question his family’s morals and his place in the group. His mind flooded with thoughts of overburdening, he started to pry himself out of the grasp of the group and broke free unnoticed. Needing some space to clear his head, he followed a small pathway through the shrubs. As he made his way into a clearing, he noticed a bench placed underneath the large oak tree in the center. He halted upon noticing a man sitting at the end of the bench, his back turned to him and hunched over, his forehead cradled in his hands.
Chapter 3:
“Oh! I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to intrude,” said Lil Muggie. The man lifted his head and turned to look at Lil Muggie with a startled expression, “No! No, it’s okay, I just wanted to get away from the protest for a couple minutes.” Oh wow. Lil Muggie was taken aback as he met the chocolaty gaze of his eyes, one of the most beautiful men he had ever seen. “Have a seat, it’s a public space anyways,” the man said with a warm smile. Lil Muggie hesitantly sat down next to him, still mesmerized by the man’s allure.
“I’m Battie by the way, Lil Battie,” the man reached out his hand. Lil Muggie’s eyes widened. “You wouldn’t happen to be Lil Battie..Battalion, would you?” Lil Battie slowly receding his hand back responded, “Yes, I am. Who are you?”
“Lil Muggie Mugdown,” he said nervously. Lil Battie let out a sigh and paused to think for a moment. “It’s nice to meet you Lil Muggie,” he offered his hand again. Lil Muggie smiled, feeling the tension in the air ease. He took Battie’s hand, delicate yet calloused fingers from years of holding a pen, not unlike his own, firmly gripping to give a lingering handshake. Lil Muggie started to retract his palm from the grasp of Lil Battie’s, when a quick spark stung between their fingertips as if they were Michelangelo’s muses for The Creation of Adam. They yanked their hands apart and let out a nervous laugh. “I guess even nature can tell we aren’t supposed to be together right now,” Lil Battie half-joked.
“I’m really sorry for all this,” Lil Muggie started, “My family goes so overboard with the rivalry, and I can’t imagine the struggle your family must be going through right now,” he said remorsefully.
“Yeah, it’s been pretty hard on all of us, especially Dad,” Lil Battie looked up, “Why are you out here instead of with your family?”
Lil Muggie exhaled slowly, “To be completely honest, I am just now questioning after 22 years if this is really what I want to do for the rest of my life. I feel like all of this, the protests, the fights, the constant belittling, it is all so inconsequential, you know? Like is it really necessary?” Lil Muggie questioned in frustration. “I am given all this responsibility of being the next EIC, I am sure you can understand,” Lil Battie gave him a knowing look, “but I still feel so powerless in my own life.”
Lil Battie nodded, “Yeah, I get it. It’s pretty exhausting to carry these burdens isn’t it,” he reached up to run those delicate fingers through his silken dark hair. Lil Muggie leaned over to pick up a water bottle perched below him, “You thirsty by the way? It’s a hot one today.”
Lil Battie grabbed the bottle from Lil Muggie’s hand, “Yes please, thank you. I didn’t come prepared.” Lil Battie unscrewed the cap and tilted his head back to pour the water down his throat, his long neck undulated with each swallow. Lil Muggie looked away, feeling flustered, his cheeks heating. Lil Battie handed the bottle back to him, and Lil Muggie swallowed a couple gulps to cool off. A small bead of water trickled down the side of his mouth onto his chin as he placed the cap back on the bottle. Lil Muggie flinched as Lil Battie instinctively reached across to swipe his thumb across Lil Muggie’s chin to wipe away the water. Battie snatched his hand back and looked at Lil Muggie with embarrassment, his mouth slightly parted in shock. “I am so sorry Lil Muggie, I don’t know what came over me,” Lil Battie apologized profusely, his cheeks turning pink.
“Oh, it’s okay don’t worry about it,” Lil Muggie mumbled back, feeling too shy to meet his eyes.
At the protest, the pro-Battalion movement made advancements toward the office of Pres. Banks. Papa Batt proudly looked across the hundreds here in support when suddenly his smile was brought to a rest. “Batista, Bates, Bethany, where is your brother Lil Battie?” shouted Papa Batt. Heads were turning in all directions as the Battalion family feared that the worst had happened to Lil Battie. One of Batista’s main tasks was to be on the lookout for Lil Battie as his older brother. “This must be the work of the Mugdowns, that family will do anything to get at me!” Papa Batt angrily shouted to his family members.
Batista, eager to prove himself worthy of being the future leader of the family company and redeem himself for losing his brother, gathers his siblings and fellow protestors to search for Lil Battie. Meanwhile, Papa Mug leading the anti-Battalion protest sends his supporters to follow Batista to see what the pro-Battalion was scheming next.
The Battalions scramble in all directions, leaving the mob of protesters in search of Lil Battie, their calls unheard over the sounds of shouting protesters. In the distance, Batista sees Lil Muggie talking to Lil Battie, and like a bull during a Spanish bullfight, he charges toward Lil Muggie with the rage and anger of a thousand suns. In a whirlwind of fists, Batista appears out of nowhere and throws a quick jab to Lil Muggie’s gut. Lil Muggie is now on the ground in pain holding his ribs, as Lil Battie yells at Batista screaming, “What is wrong with you? You could’ve hurt him,” shoving Batista’s shoulders back and away from Lil Muggie, still writhing on his knees. Batista and the rest of the pro-Battalion movement now have Lil Muggie surrounded while Lil Battie tries to calm the situation down.
The sight of Lil Muggie on the floor enraged the Mugdown family, and in a flash, there was a full out brawl between the two families. Blows were swung, and painful groans took over the sounds of what was supposed to be a peaceful protest. Authorities were called, and the fight had to forcefully be separated as the two families headed in opposite directions. As if their souls were now forever interconnected, both Lil Battie and Lil Muggie looked back for one last glance, their longing eyes meeting, unspoken words acknowledged in that brief look, knowing that their precious moment alone created a feeling they would chase for a lifetime.
