Tristan saw the manager’s eyes fill with extreme
compassion. He glanced out of the windows, and saw the last rays of the sun
dipping in the horizon, signalling the end of another day.
For him, it was a reminder of the nightmares he’ll
have later, deep in the night.
“My story’s pathetic, but you could try considering
giving me the spot. I can still perform well.”
Mechanically.
With no attachment. No anything.
“Look, son.” The old man licked his lips before
going on, “I’m really sorry for – ”
“Everyone’s sorry,”
came the reply in a dull tone, with
the hint of tired anger, “That’s why I caught the next plane to Europe as soon
as I could.”
The man behind the desk sighed, “Okay, I’ll…I’ll
look over your resumé again.” He paused. “Son?”
“Yes, I’m listening.”
“Maybe…maybe it was for the best. That wouldn’t have
happened if there’s no good that would come out of it.”
Tristan met the gaze of the man head-on. His topaz
eyes were dark, broken, and they hid a lot of pain inside, which he felt slice
through him with every breath he took.
He spoke with conviction.
“I doubt it.”
No comments:
Post a Comment