Down in the City

Rainy

Black tears stain your face as you walking briskly down the gray sidewalk, next to that skyscraper that you always loved. You didn't get the job. Sure, the pay rate wasn't as much as Bill Gates, but it was your childhood dream to be a reporter. They rejected you; for the fifth time this year. You even bought yourself a whole new outfit to look professional. But no; it didn't impress anyone. Buying that solid black blazer, crisp white shirt, that pencil skirt, and shiny new heels cost you over $250. That's what happens when you live in New York. You tried wiping the wet mascara from your eyes, but it only made your hands sticky. You wore your once sleek blazer, on your shoulders, to be probably blown away by the wind. But you didn't care. Realizing your hair was in a tight bun, you reached and pulled the hair tie off. Many strands of brown hair came off with it, and you threw the hair tie onto the street on your right. You've tried long enough; it's time to give up on your dreams. Turning your head, you take one long glance back at the gleaming building that literally tore you down. And you keep walking. In which direction or way, you don't know.

Before you know it, you've walked over 10 blocks. And your heels are screaming in pain. The mascara seems to have dried, but it makes your face as stiff as a rock. You're only a few blocks away from your apartment complex. But you don't want people to come and humiliate you for the umpteenth time you didn't make it. Being the craziest human being on earth, you slip off your heels and carry them as you walk down a block. For some weird reason, your shoulders immediately feel cold...oh no. As you panic over your lost blazer, you turn around, only to find it covering a man's face. It hit him in face. You clasp one hand over your mouth as you approach him, muttering sorry over and over again until you reach over and take the clothing that blinded him. He wore a suit--that missed it's black jacket, and wore a tie messily over a crisp, white shirt. He had a suitcase in one hand, the other in his pocket. As you clutched the blazer in your hand, his hand covered yours, helping you. In that moment that he touched your hand, you could feel your heartbeat stop. His hair was an ash brown that was cut cleanly, a mole below his right eye. He smiled warmly, slight wrinkles forming under his eyes. You don't know, but you felt as if he was--familiar.

    "I'm guessing this is yours, no?" He handed the blazer back to you, his warm hand sliding against yours. Your heartbeat began to quicken, and you could feel the contrast between your burning cheeks and the cold wind breezing by.

"Thanks." You muttered; hoping he wouldn't hear. But he did. His eyebrows furrowed and he pointed at you directly. Doesn't this guy know any manners? "Wait a second, you're the one who failed her reporter interview, right?" You felt the embarrassed heat from your cheeks fade away, replaced by the heat of anger. How did this jerk know...? You told yourself. But you were thinking of the wrong reason. "Because I failed too." You turned around and realized that there was a reason why his jacket was missing. He gave up; just like you.

//im thinking that if this gets 1k+ reads(which might take awhile), i'll continue this I WONT BE ABLE TO UPDATE A LOT but when i do i'll make sure to do my best for y'all :))// -a