Silky Word

Words: 847

"Copywriters," Larry went on, "are like spiders."

Shwetha, who was hanging on to the lecturer's every word - indeed, she was noting all of them down - paused in her frantic scribbling and looked up.

"Did you say spiders?"

Larry gave his most ardent pupil a smile. She wasn't his favourite student, she didn't have enough gumption to be that, but she was certainly keen. And which man doesn't like to have a pretty young woman thinking of him as the universe's gift to wannabe-copywriters?

"Spiders weave webs. Copywriters weave the silken thread of words. They spin their fine yarn, the fabric of their tale. They entice and ensnare their prey, the unsuspecting customer. They trap this customer and delve deep, deep into insecurities and fears till they reach his wallet, her purse, their bank account. For their pains, their advertising agency earns fifteen per cent."

It was the longest time Shwetha had ever spent sitting at her desk without writing. She gazed at Larry. She wasn't a predator. She had thought copywriters were ceaseless workers who brought those who had in contact with those who needed, and thus kept the economy afloat. What's more, all humankind was happy. Those who needed got what they needed, those who'd supplied it got the money with which to purchase what they, in turn, needed. And the copywriter was the one who told everyone about the existence of the other. It was matchmaking of sorts. Very romantic. Now, the professor she worshipped was making it sound like the copywriter was an arachnid who sucked the life juice out of ugly, blundering houseflies.

Shwetha hated houseflies, but she didn't want to be the spider sucking the life juice out of them. She blinked. She looked back down at her book. The ink had blotted where she had stopped writing, at 'spi–' Yes, Shwetha wrote in fountain pen. She was an old-fashioned girl with old-fashioned ideals.

*********

Shwetha spent a sleepless night. She tossed and turned, perturbed by the events of the advertising class. It was a bubble burst, an illusion broken. She tried counting sheep, but saw spiders instead. Spiders that crawled around her and trapped her ...

She flung herself out of bed.

"Shwetha? Is that you?"

"Sorry, Ruchika, I didn't mean to wake you."

Her roommate, wrapped in a dressing gown, walked into her room. "I heard you muttering. Then I thought you fell out of bed."

"I was thinking of the advertising lecture."

They shared more than a roof. They shared their subjects, too. It was one of the reasons they'd taken this little apartment together, they could be study-buddies.

"I could see you were much disturbed," Ruchika said.

"Weren't you?"

"Not really." Ruchika shrugged. "I mean, copywriting is a job, like any other. And comparing it to this or that doesn't change it for me."

"Ruchika, I think I want to change my major."

"Well, we're in the two-week trial period. You just need to fill the form and Bob's your uncle. But are you sure?"

"I think so. I can't get the spider thing out of my mind. Weaving the silken word ... I want to do something meaningful."

Ruchika shrugged again. Then, she leaned in and gave Shwetha a quick peck on the cheek.

"Shwetha, you're like a child, but a really nice one. It's nice to see someone with some ideals. See how you feel tomorrow. Or - today, actually. You've been tossing a long time. Sleep now and decide when you wake up."

*********

For once, Shwetha and Ruchika parted on entering college. Ruchika beat the familiar path up the stairs to the classroom, while Shwetha made her way to the main office.

Ten minutes later, she had her new timetable and was running full tilt to get to her new class on time.

She was going to be a journalist.

She was going to tell people the truth, bring them closer to the realities they needed to see. She was going to bridge the gap between the upper classes and the lower classes by getting each to understand the viewpoint of the other, and empathise.

She arrived, breathless, at the classroom door.

The bell was ringing, the professor's quick footsteps were behind her. She spotted an empty seat in the third row and made her way to it.

"We have a new face," the professor said, taking his place on the platform and looking straight at Shwetha. "Welcome, my dear, to the world of the word. The harsh word, the smooth word. The electric word, the musical word. But most of all, the silken word."

Shwetha blinked.

"The silken word, which you have to learn to weave. You must learn to fascinate the reader, to lure the populace. You must learn, with your word, to create belief, to shatter values. You must make people so comfortable in the cocoon of your silken word that they vote for the candidate you tell them to, picket for the causes dear to your heart. You are the puppet master, and you pull the strings. The silky, silky strings of your words ..."


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Prompt: write a story of up to 1500 words that fits the title "Silky Word"