Nothing is right. Nothing is working as it should. No matter how extravagant I write, no matter how much evidence is behind my writing, no matter how conclusive my reasoning is, no matter how much I write, not a single soul reacts much to my writing or really reads my writing -absolutely no one. I paid what little I earned to publish my paper in a newspaper, and it made no impact and caused no ripples. It is like I do not exist on this earth anymore. Standard Oil hired another white-collar manager and replaced me. Yellow Journalism attracts the attention of everyone. No one but the most ardent progressivists agrees with my viewpoint and donates money that barely covers my living expenses. I cannot write without ink; I can barely afford it. I feel my Renid Network failing is almost as if it is foreshadowing my gloomy future. Everyone views me as a stark mad muckraker trying to drag America down as they uphold the status quo.
It is like Thoreau and Emerson before the Civil War when they advocated for Transcendentalism and the value of nature. They attracted a lot of attention, but they are now simply names in history. We still are in an industrial society. They became ghosts of society. I am becoming a ghost too. I am disappearing into history and statistics, and there is nothing I can do about it.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
What can I do? What am I good at? I am good at managing workers; it is what I have been learning my whole life; it is the thing I have the most experience with. Yet, I cannot find a job with anything of the such with a criminal record on my head. The second thing I can do is use my Charisma and write things, yet no one is out there to take my words seriously, or even take my words at all. The last thing I am good at is fighting and killing. I proved that on the battlefield with the senseless killing for the country. Those killings were unnecessary killings fueled by propaganda, not the need to survive or the spirit of freedom in the American Revolution. Yet I proved that I am indeed very good at fighting both in the Great War and in prison while I had a limp. What does my skill set, with a criminal record, allow me to do but struggle? Maybe that is the reason why unskilled labor is so widespread and popular – because people cannot express their skillset and have no other choice. I cannot be the only one who is like this. I am going to seek out people who are like me, and we shall create an organization to care for these kinds of people. At least one piece of good news is that my father later in the year would be released from prison. At the very least, he still acknowledges my existence, even though I am not his biological son, as he sends me letters. (His letters actually reach the household while my letters disappear off into nowhere.)