It wasn't even raining hard when I wrote this, I think.

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James Craddock was nervous before his big interview. His knuckles had gone pearly white, and his forehead an apple red. He dared not scratch his itchy rash on the back of his left hand, for it might lead to more scratching, until there's so much scratching that it eventually bleeds like tree gum. But it didn't hurt, much like getting bitten by a shark: you didn't know it until you saw you had no leg and then you'd scream once you realised.

Maybe he was overreacting as he stepped into the office and the man asked him his first 5 questions. Like a hyena he laughed, with nails like pieces of chalk scratching against that old desk of his. He was old man with furrows like burrows, and wrinkles like the folds of the land. Very mellow, and very lusciously fat.

"So how was Paris," the interview's teeth asked, "was it good?" He rested his chin on his knuckles, and his elbow on his desk. The desk was mahogany, like from the tree? You know, the tree? The one in James' backyard of the house he grew up in on 12th street, the one in Gloomdale where the mist was always present, and sun shining through like through stained glass... bloody red.

"It was. It was," I answered politely as a man like myself could, "interesting. I ate some frog's legs." I was looking at his eagle eyes, piercing through your heart like a rushing sword through melting butter. He was a fierce little weakling, he was, like the ugly goose. "Cooked," I added, hoping that it would add meaning. It was kind of like those youtube comments where if you actually read it out loud, you might shoot yourself with a BB gun... in the head, twice. That was the kind of humiliation one brought upon one's self. That being unless the listener was a total douche. Thus the not caring.

"I'd like to say you've got the job," he said, "but you haven't." It was like American Idol, and I was the gullible contestant. Inside my face dropped. The whole prospect of a viable career in industrial engineering... pretty much gone down the chute. You could say buh-bye to your dreams like a child going down the water slide. And then I hit rock bottom.

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Wow! what a terribly random bout of creativity I have been suffered by! It's now 12:57 a.m. and I need to go to school tomorrow, so I'll stop writing. But thanks for listening to my song, and reading the story! I hope to chat to you, just add me, or give me a PM, and we'll get talking! You've got a friend in me :)

CiAO
-SpXer-