Invitation
11:36 pm
I clocked out of work.
Ugh.
My arms felt sore from the interview earlier today, and stretching only made it worse.
I didn't even bring my car because the interview required me to avoid using any personal transportation.
It would've been better to have my car with me this late.
Oh well.
I took the elevator down to the ground floor. The office lights were out, but the receptionist desk was empty. Lory, headphones in, was mopping the floor.
I headed out through the front glass doors.
The sky was dark with no stars visible. One of the many issues of living in a buzzing and big city like Starlight.
As I walked through the street, heading towards the nearest bus station, I popped in my wired headphones to listen to some tunes on my way back to my apartment.
3128.
I entered the pin to my door.
Beep
I pushed inside, closing the door behind me.
Click.
It locked shut.
Darkness filled the living space of my apartment. I took off my running shoes before slipping into my fluffy ones - used only inside.
I dropped my handbag on the couch before heading towards the refrigerator. As I opened the fridge, I noticed the leftover red-sauce pasta from last night. I grabbed it before shutting the door and walked over to the microwave.
I turned it on for an entire minute, watching lazily as it spun around, heating the plastic container I stored the pasta in.
Beep.
The microwave door opened; I took out the container and pulled a fork from the drawer. I shoved my fork into the pasta and ate quietly in the dark.
I felt exhausted after the interview earlier today.
Too tired to even grab my phone and possibly look through some entertainment.
I put the empty container in the sink, letting it be a problem for tomorrow's version of myself. Right now, I need to sleep.
I walked past my handbag, thrown earlier on the couch when I came in, to head towards my bedroom.
As I entered the room, I settled on my bed, replaying the day's events.
What a day.
My arms were still aching from what occurred during the interview. And I still had yet to get an answer or a response.
Was I rejected? It was possible. I wasn't the best.
There were other people — heroes who were far more talented.
Heroes…
I let out a sigh, plopping down on the soft mattress that pulled me further in. From the corner of my eye, I saw my phone screen go on.
A message? From them?
I immediately sat up and reached out towards it as it rested on the nightstand, charging. Upon opening the lock screen, which was a picture of my younger brother; Nathan, and me when we went on a trip to High-peak Moot.
I unconsciously smile every time I see that picture — hence why it's my lock screen wallpaper.
I checked the notification to see it was a half-yellow alert from Clematis City.
It seemed like some sort of trouble was brewing in Clematis City. I was too tired to care about right now.
I put the phone down, plopping down on the bed with severe exhaustion.
It didn't take too long for my eyes to close and, finally, sleep came over me.
Two slow, uneventful days passed.
I have yet to receive a response from them, the interviewer. Seems like they did not choose me after all.
Tough luck, Zia.
I told myself just to lessen the disappointment I felt towards myself.
I wondered what Mom and Dad would think about this.
Would've earned another badge of disapproval from them.
"Hey you! Get to work!"
I let out a sigh when I heard Grant coming my way. Telling people to continue their labour just for him to get all the credit.
He gets the credit and payroll from those big companies to hide their dirt.
I sat up straight, pretending to work.
I looked over the paper I got from the DIA office, looking for information about a recent murder case that was all over the internet.
It was about a famous actor who committed suicide because of the pressure from the industry; though there have been theories from freaks, straight-out pointing at someone in the show business who wanted him gone.
Since when has journalism watered itself down to report on celebrities' deaths and ignore the genuine issues going around the globe?
Rich people sure love their money; they'd rather spend it polishing their image than fixing actual issues.
I took a deep breath and typed away the information from the paper onto my laptop as Grant stood behind my desk, analysing me.
12:01 pm.
One by one, the office cleared as people headed out for lunch. There were many small restaurants on the street where people went to eat.
I often rotated through my options. One day I would have hotdogs, then one day I would have dumplings, one day I would have chicken kebabs and on some days, I would get up extra early to prepare a lunch box.
The city was built on multiculturalism — not just from Earth but also from other parts of the galaxy. Hence why there were so many varieties of food.
I turned off my computer and was just about to head out for lunch myself… until my phone buzzed.
My eyebrows raised in curiosity; I picked up my phone and unlocked it.
There was a notification from an unknown number.
I contemplated whether to click on the notification. I hoped it was from the arena, but why wouldn't they label it? Someone that big should be more… professional.
Is that too much to ask?
I hesitantly pressed on the link that took me to another website.
I stood there, waiting for the website to load, while everyone left to eat.
Since it was taking forever, I sat back on my chair, waiting… and waiting.
After a few more seconds, a message popped up.
Finally.
"The Starlight Co-operation has chosen you to become the latest member of the Zifa Arena. The arena requests your presence tomorrow at 10:00 am. Arrive 15 minutes early," it read.
Tomorrow. They invited me. To the arena.
I swallowed, looking around the room to make sure I wasn't dreaming.
I actually… got in.
Ha.
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