literature

Finding a job is hell, even in hell.

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Literature Text




“Why do you think you deserve this job?”

I hear the question and my brain delays. I should have had my cup of coffee this morning.

“Son, why do you think you deserve this job?”

I begin to talk to myself. Oh right. I need to prove my usefulness and my interest to this old guy, but really I just want to go back to sleep. I am exhausted from having to burn holes into my flesh all night. What can I say? It’s the sentence for my penitence.

“Next!”

Did he just say next? I think I just ruined my interview. Hold on. I can save this. “Sir, wait! I am sorry about that I was up all night because of my penitence and I really deserve this job. I was a torturer for 9 years in the fourth circle, so I am sure I can handle a few tortures up here in the first circle.”

He smiles at me. It’s a disgusting smile. I want to surrender, throw in the towel, hoist the white flag, and get the hell out of doge.

Finally, he cuts off my stream of consciousness, “You know, kid. Just because this is the first circle doesn’t mean we take it easy on our citizens.”

I am surprised. Didn’t realize he would twist my words. Need to save myself. Need to get a job. Then it will be better; I will have the time to focus and follow through my grand concepts and ideas-which are still in developmental stages.

He  interrupts my thoughts again, “Kid. Are you here? Where the hell do you go?”

I laugh a little. He doesn’t find it amusing. This old timer sure doesn’t enjoy a good time.
Finally I reply, “Sorry, sir. I get distracted easily. I’ve been torturing alone for so long; talking to people is strange for me. I tend to get trapped in my mind. Which is actually why I would be perfect for this position sir. I would try my hardest to earn this position daily. I won’t let you down. I won’t hold back on your citizens. I can promise you that.”

He stands up from across the desk and I can see wrinkles of centuries etched into his face, yet his muscles bulge from under his shirt and as he saunters toward me my blood turns cold.

I am certain the next part of this interview will not be delightful. Then he gently scoots my chair away from the desk with his foot and simultaneously grabs his chair and swings it over the desk and places it front of my chair. He sits down and nearly lands on his tail. He begins to stare at me with his nose a few inches away from mine. He leans back and tells me, “I like your enthusiasm. Even if you are a little eccentric.”  

I say, “Thank you sir.” Not sure what he just called me, but it sounded cool.

“What is your biggest fear?”

“Sir?”

“What are you afraid of the most?”

“I am not sure. I haven’t quite thought about it.”

“You seem nervous. Are you okay?”

“Yes sir. Just really want this job.”

“Well, do you mind if I place my hand on your forehead?”

“No sir.”

“You sure? Don’t want any lawsuits.” He starts laughing.

Then he thrusts his heavy cold dry hand on my forehead; it feels like five bricks digging into my brain. Then I begin to see my life replay in sharp highlight reels and feel the emotions associated with each memory.

First, the love and adoration from my family which warmed my soul create a peace and joy within me. Second, a blend of the bliss and heartbreak from my teenage romances sweep over me. Third, the worry and concern of what would come after graduation seeps through. Fourth, the frustration of every interview that went south takes over. Fifth, the rage which motivated me to sell dimebags begins to fill my veins. Sixth, the ambition which drove me to sell ice overwhelms me. Seventh, the high which blinded me and convinced me to waste my supplier’s money influences me again.

Finally, he finds the fear I had when I read the texts from my supplier informing me he was at the bar watching me throw away his money; texts threatening he would kill me and my little brother if I didn’t pay him back. The interviewer sees my tears turn into a visceral sorrow and I see myself how I was lost and desperate. Then, I am rummaging through my dad’s closet to find his gun. I find the pistol, verify it’s loaded, and place it in my pants. The interviewer skips to the fight and my supplier is on the ground breathing blood bubbles and the pain is all consuming as I watch myself die.

He takes his hand off of me and says to himself, “Interesting. I am not sure you are quite what I am looking for. Unless you learned something once you died?”

It takes me a second to realize his question wasn’t rhetorical and finally I reply, “Yes. I learned quite a lot from my previous position.”

He places his hand on me again. The nine years replay and the old man sees my first hesitant session and he sees my experience and passion for the task grow. Finally, he reaches the day I am promoted to the first circle of hell. Again, he removes his hand and says, “Well, then. You have become a master of your trade. One could almost argue that you are overqualified, but I believe you will excel here. We can’t pay you as well as you were being paid, but we do have better benefits and the workload is a lot lighter. What do you say? Can you begin tonight?”

My nerves settle down and I grow calm. We stand to shake hands as I reply, “Yes sir, of course.”
“Great. See you then!”

The title and prompt for this piece is from The-Livewriter and this is for the 13th day of FFM. Hope you enjoy or hate this piece and either emotion motivates you to leave some feedback in the comments section. Thank you! 
© 2015 - 2024 smurfboy21
Comments5
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NamelessShe's avatar
I enjoyed it. Interesting characters, good flow, strong voice.