The story about a girl, who tries to earn herself a name, along with respect and fame, in a world that is just so hard to achieve these things
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"Elliot James"
"That's me."
"Oh, I thought you were Male"
.//
She sits, gobsmacked. Drowning in her own thoughts, thinking what's next. Should I stay, or should I go?, whispering without end.
She moves her dainty legs, her bespoke shoes speaking to the world on her behalf. She flips her brunette hair out of her freckles filled face, flaunting her way into the tall structure of a building.
Heads turn her way, as she flutters the green orbs in her head, and casts it down. She seems like the social extrovert. But she really is merely the shy introvert, who flaunt walks around, grabbing everyone's attention like a siren. But late in the night, cries to sleep because no one hears her cry filled whines.
"Elliot James?" The receptionist mutters, a voice filled with boredom. The sounds of a gum bubble popping, seconds later as she taps her acrylic nails on the counter. "Yes?" She walks up to the reception, leaving the cozy arm chair, she was seated seconds ago. She stands tall, masking the confidence which was draining away, draining fast, like water from an unplugged tub.
Fake it till you make it.
"I thought you were male", the receptionist smiles, lipstick smudged on the front tooth, an ounce of apology written with black ink on her face.
She shrugs, she is used to it by now. "It's alright." It's not alright, she is not okay with it. But she lets it go, because that is what being mature is all about. She curse her mother, for being so blinded by love and naming her after someone who up and left, as soon as she was born. And in that instant, she takes it back. Because you don't curse people you love. You pray for them.
"Floor 20, your interview starts in ten minutes. Good luck" the receptionist gives her a tight smile, a sign of dismissal before adding, "oh and it's the only room in the floor, you wouldn't miss it"
Lips twitch heavenwards as she thank the lady behind the desk, and move her body, which has gone mildly stiff, towards the elevator.
So pretty. So tall. Damn, those legs. Flaunt that booty, girl.
If only they knew, the storm raging in her, they would've said otherwise. They wouldn't see her as such a beauty, then.
Five minutes past, and she stands outside a room labeled:
Mr. Keller ,
Who she was kindly showed towards by Mr.kellers ever so helpful assistant. To pass the remaining five minutes, she makes a mental $5 dollar bet. "I bet he is old and wrinkly. I bet he has no sense of fashion or photography, but acts like he owns the whole damn industry"
She knew, in her core, that she would win this bet. The five dollar bill, her grand victory award.
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