Beautiful Things

Comfort Crowd

        "Miss Fiona?" Fiona looked up. She had been sitting outside the office for 10 minutes, and the voices in her head had gotten louder every second.
        "We can see you now." She walked into the office. There was a tall woman standing behind the desk, smiling at her. She had gorgeous blonde hair, and reminded Fiona of someone. She just didn't know who.
        "I'm Marjorie." Fiona shook her hand.
        "I'm Fiona." They sat down.
        "Why are you interested in this job?" Marjorie asked, looking at Fiona's resume.
        "I have always loved to write poetry. I've never done it professionally, so I would like to watch others do it, and learn from them." Fiona felt this was a good answer. She wasn't setting her expectations too high.
        "All right. I see here that you majored in poetry with a minor in history. Why are you interested in history?"
        "I want to learn about the past because it gives me inspiration for poems. These poems honor figures of the past, or are like letters to the future, telling them not to make the same mistakes." She knew this was something that they heard every day. She began to play with her hands, which was an old habit she had almost gotten rid of.
        "And do you have a poem prepared?" Fiona nodded, pulling out her paper.
        "Would you read it aloud for me? This is to demonstrate if you are skilled at performing poetry." Fiona said yes. She wasn't expecting this. Her palms began to get sweaty, and she had to control her breathing.
        "My only one." She began, putting emphasis on the word one.
       "My smoking gun.
        My eclipsed sun.
        This has broken me down.
        My twisted knife.
        My sleepless night.
        My winless fight.
        This has frozen my ground." Marjorie leaned in, and looked interested.
        "Stood on the cliffside,
        Screaming give me a reason.
        Your faithless love's the only hoax I believe in.
        Don't want no other shade of blue but you.
        No other sadness in the world would do." Marjorie thought for a moment.
        "Would you explain the inspiration behind this poem and what it means to you?" Fiona thought about each line. It was really about her childhood, and wanting to believe that her father would get better.
        "I don't feel comfortable with that." She hoped that this response would be ok. A lot of poets didn't always explain their poems. She was close to crying already.
        "What if we took it a couple of lines at a time?" Marjorie wasn't going to let up. She didn't wait for a response.
        "My only one, my smoking gun. What did you have in mind while you wrote this?"
        "Um-." Fiona had flashbacks to her childhood. She remembered everything that she saw when the gun was pressed to her head. She started shaking violently.
        "Most poets aren't comfortable with talking about their poems. But they do anyway." Marjorie added. Fiona shook her head. The door opened.
        "Rachel! I'm doing an interview!" Rachel, Marjorie's assistant, looked over at Fiona.
        "What have you done to her?" She yelled at Marjorie. Fiona was shocked. Rachel didn't seem like the girl who yelled.
        Her instincts were right. Rachel immediately cowered in fear. Marjorie smiled cruelly.
        "Did you just talk back to me?" Rachel nodded her head timidly.
        "Get out." Marjorie said to Fiona. Fiona stood up and left as quickly as she could. The last thing she saw before Marjorie closed the door was Rachel preparing to get yelled at for a long time.
        Fiona was still shaking. There was no way she was going to get the job. Are Matt and Will friends with Marjorie? She asked herself.
        She began to get hungry, and realized that it was lunchtime. She didn't feel like eating in a restaurant, so she looked up places that did takeout. Her phone dinged.
        "We're on a lunch break. Do you want to meet for lunch?" Will had texted her. She assumed that we included Matt.
        "No, thanks. I'm busy. Maybe dinner?" She responded. She knew that this sounded lame, but she wasn't in the mood to see anyone.
        She ordered a queso dip with chips, and went up to her hotel room. She turned on the TV and watched Friends.
        Fiona couldn't believe how cruel Marjorie had been. It was awful. Alison. That's who she reminded me of.
        Marjorie had been nothing like Alison. It was just the hair. She remembered that Alison had blue eyes.
        After lunch, she went to a bar. She didn't plan on getting drunk, but maybe the loud music could drown out her anxiety.
        No one was ever at bars in the afternoon. She only saw a few bartenders and stragglers on the dance floor. The mirrorball was hanging on its last thread.
        She compared herself to the mirrorball. She changed who she was all the time. Every time she broke, it was in a million pieces. But she tried to become prettier while she was broken.
        She was the one friend who laughed a little too loud. Who always felt left out. Who was always there for everyone but herself.
        Fiona pulled out her phone and began to write a poem about this. Tears streamed down her face as the voices in her head got louder.
        She shouldn't have come to the bar alone. She needed company now. She didn't care what mess she would've made with someone else around.
        The bartenders paid no attention to her, but she felt an obligation to wipe the tears off of her face. She would keep a smile on her shoulders until the night she couldn't anymore.
"Are you trying to make me cry?" A direct quote from a friend who read this
Kid Krow has 1 billion streams! Go listen to it
Clue for next chapter
🎶And when I felt like an old cardigan🎶-Cardigan by Taylor Swift
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