Gus, lifestyle columnist
Author: Gus
My name is Gustave Laurent D’Evreux, and I am Wewologetics Official’s “Lifestyle columnist”.
I do product reviews primarily, but will occasionally write on topics such as hobbies and travel. I’m not entirely sure what “Lifestyle” means in this context, but I was assured that I’d do fine, and not to worry. Tellurius is quite a character. He’s not overly concerned about much outside of his laboratory. Well, at any rate, I will do my best.
My lifestyle has changed tremendously, regard me.
I was a young boy in Evreux, my home town. After school, my friends and I would go to the river to catch fish, or ride our bikes through town committing to many ways boys could cause mischief. My mother would have dinner ready by sundown. Her cooking is heartwarming to remember, so delicious. I would later then be caned for not doing my chores after school and then spend the night sweeping the porch. I would look up to the sky, at the stars, and wonder. “What is all that? Will I ever know?”
When I left primary school, I was full of hope for the future. I had paid attention in school and was ready to make something of myself. I got a job at a dock unloading fish from a ship into crates. It was many hours of hard work. I tried to make friends, but quickly found that I was swimming in a pool of negativity. Everyone I met was angry and frustrated with a patina of etiquette and civility. I lacked sleep, my back was sore, and rent was raised on me several times. I would get ahead just to be smashed back down. The negativity drained me. My sweet Josephine kept me afloat, such a beautiful name. She kept me alive, moving.
One Morning, I was sent home early. The Fishery had burned down in the night. Jean-Belmont Deautrive, the owner, stood in the ashes, staring at the ships sunk in the harbor. “J'avais rêvé d'une autre vie…” turning to me he continued, sweat streaked through his soot and ash covered face, “I’m sorry, Gus. I wish you luck.”
I headed on a long walk home. I dreaded bearing this news to Josephine. I didn’t know what would become of me, but I knew I would not give up. Not yet.
I saw a sign in a bakery window, “aide demandée”, and walked in. “Bon Jour! Here for a Religieuse?”
“A job, actually, my friend.”
The Baker paused, thinking momentarily. “OH! Oui. A Job. That’s right, of course. Are you experienced in a bakery?”
“No, just hucking fish into a cart.” I said, exasperated, “but, I can learn.”
A smile stretched across his face. “I will pay you for today. Show me how fast you learn…”
“Gustave, monsieur.” I responded, in his pause. Shaking the hand of a stranger waiting behind me in line in my elation, “We’re going to be alright.” I nearly shouted. He nodded with a calm smile, which was jarring.
“Yes, we will.” the man said, then gesturing that I turn to baker. As I turned around, the baker tossed me an apron. I fumbled with it, trying to put it on as I hurried to the back.
“Get washed up. Talk with Armand.”
That evening, I opened the door to my flat, “Josephine! I have awful news! The fishery burned down!” I looked around, there was not a response. “Josephine?”
Silence.
“ARE YOU HOME, JO?” I shouted. Concerned, I hurried into the living room. I stopped in my tracks to see a man sitting on the arm chair.
“Gus."
“Who are you? Wait, you're the man from the bakery!”
“It's time to go, my friend.” He said calmy, standing up, buttoning his coat.
“Go? Go where? Where is Josephine?” I started to panic. He walked toward me with his hand out.
“Stop. Relax. Everything has been taken care of.” I looked into his eyes, “she's fine. It’s time." He continued, tapping his pocket watch, that was bound to his wrist.
My memory faded as a dream as I awoke to a bedroom. I looked outside to a city covered in massive towers of steel and glass, choking out the sky. The street below was loud, filled with people and carriages of steel. A knock on the door pulled me from the window. I turned to see the man with the wristwatch and another man. The second man entered the room, stretching out his hand.
“Gus!” His voice was strange. Choral, yet monotonal.”
“Where am I?”
“Welcome home.” He grinned. “Sweet Home, Chicago.”