𝐓𝐨 𝐁𝐞 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐠 ༊*·˚ 𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐨𝐨𝐧

𝐨𝐧𝐞.

|ᴏɴᴇ| ꜰʟʏɪɴɢ ɢᴜɪᴛᴀʀꜱ & ʙɪʟʟɪᴏɴ ʜɪᴛꜱ

The Miami sun blazed down, its relentless glare transforming me into the unwilling star of a one-woman show titled "Vesper's Slow Roast to Insanity." Welcome to the Sunshine State, where dreams arrive seeking a tan and reality delivers a sunburn worse than the one currently searing into my pasty skin.

My oversized black hoodie billowed behind me like a dark cloud as I trudged through the mall's automatic doors. The air-conditioning enveloped me, its icy caress prompting a sigh of relief as my sweat-dampened skin drank in the chill. "From one circle of hell to another," I muttered, eyeing the bustling food court with all the warmth of a cat spotting an overdue bath.

Grease and desperation hung heavy in the air, mingling with the peppy pop music that grated against my eardrums. A trio of clones in designer labels and manufactured smiles flitted past, their laughter shrieking through my brain like fingernails on a chalkboard. I tugged at my choppy violet bangs, using them as a makeshift shield against the garish spectacle of teen consumerism.

"A job will do you good, sweetie!" My stepmother's chipper voice echoed in my skull, the aural equivalent of a mosquito buzzing around my ear. "Sunshine and fresh air, it's what you need!"

Because nothing screams "mental health" like fluorescent lights, minimum wage, and the soul-sucking drone of corporate drudgery. It's the over-the-counter prescription for existential dread, available at your local Mall-Mart.

I caught a glimpse of myself in a storefront window - a fading specter of wasted potential superimposed over a mannequin clad in an outfit that seemed created by a unicorn having a seizure. The dark circles under my eyes rivaled the depth of my burgeoning existential crisis, and my chipped black nail polish flaked away with the same lack of enthusiasm as my will to live. My lips curled into a sneer, the kind that could wither plants with a single glance.

"Prime job applicant material right here," I sighed, the weight of my hopelessness clinging to me like the stale scent of last night's party on the morning after.

With a sigh that could deflate a bounce house, I embarked on my tour of corporate despair. First stop: Suzie's Soups, a culinary wasteland that reeked of stale bread and shattered dreams.

"Hi there!" A voice like a squeaky toy pierced the air. Suzie beamed at me, her grin so bright it should have carried a seizure warning. "We're the best soupy place in town!"

I grunted, extending my pristine resume like an olive branch between enemies. It was untouched, much like my potential and my chances of surviving this interview without a mental breakdown.

Suzie's eyes sparkled like a glitter addict's stash. "Let's do a quick interview! What made you want to work at Suzie's Soups?"

I blinked slowly, channeling my inner sloth on valium. "The sweet embrace of death was busy, so... soup, I guess?"

Her smile twitched, a dying fish on the hook of my apathy. "Um, okay... And how would you handle a difficult customer?"

An eyebrow inched up my forehead, a smirk crawling onto my lips like a creeper on a neglected garden wall. "The same way I handle difficult questions. Stare blankly until they go away or combust - whichever comes first."

"Right..." Suzie's enthusiasm deflated like a popped balloon. "Well, thank you for your... interest. We'll be in touch."

Translation: We'd rather hire a sentient bowl of soup than risk unleashing you on our customers.

The mall stretched before me, an endless wasteland of flickering neon lies and crushed dreams. I trudged on, leaving behind a trail of rejected applications and shattered corporate souls.