Borderline

origins & finals

Hey guys! So I decided to share the original piece that this book was written from. I hope you enjoy this novel's origins! Without any further ado, here is my college final from last year!

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One Single Word

"What type of work did you have in mind?" the employee asked Billie. She took the silent opportunity to quietly slide into the chair and nervously clear her throat. "Anything." Billie said, playing with the dainty necklace clasped around her neck. The carpet coated the small unemployment office cubicle unsuccessfully as it was dingy and worn. The staff member's long acrylic nails clacked on her black keyboard. Then she lowered her glasses to the middle of her pointed nose. "All I have at the moment is a job at the mental hospital, sweetie." she said.

A thick wash of stiff panic raced over Billie as her leg unconsciously twitched. "Oh! Well I don't really know about that." she hesitantly said. "I know you have no experience, but the patient they have in mind is mild in nature and really only needs someone to talk to. Tell you what, just go home and sleep on it and come back tomorrow, honey." the clerk responded. "Next!" she screeched. Billie hurriedly ran out of the office, her feet slamming against the rubble.

Fumbling to find her keys, Billie finally slumped into her car. The radio plays some popular song that she feels like she might know but doesn't care to notice the lyrics, only the mood the melody places her into, almost lulling her bewildered temperament.

Resting her tired chin onto her aching palm that had cramped from the subconscious grasping of the steering wheel, Billie pulled up to the last stop sign before her newly purchased apartment. Taking a huge, riveting breath, catching the scent of rosemary mint, she stepped out of the driver's seat. The dirty grey cement stained with sporadic splotches of engine oil compared with Billie's dingy white canvas shoes. It took a few solid, slow blinks of her eyes before crossing the garage and entering her house. Grabbing a jar of half empty peanut butter and a spoon, she sits down on her island in the kitchen. Beeping racket emits from her answering machine which finally ceases when Bille deletes the message without checking who it is. She fiddles with her necklace, abrasively rubbing it against the skin of her neck.

Taking a deep breath, she decides to reach up onto the neighboring counter to grab her cellphone and dial the employment agency to formally accept the job. Amid the unpacked towers of cardboard boxes, she scratches the back of her head and spots a bent corner of paper sticking out of her unopened cabinet. She rests her temple down on the frigid tile, tucking her knees in under herself, forever staring at the yellow page.

***

Billie finds herself in the midst of a hallway with plexiglass walls which houses patients. Questioning the molecular makeup of this glass as one inhabitant is incessantly banging against it with no damage done, she languidly follows her new boss. "If you don't make eye contact, most of 'em won't bother you too much," he states. The comment was meant in a comforting tone but shook Billie up even further.

"Come, come," he repeats, noticing how Billie cannot bring herself to pry her eyes away. Realizing she was being rude, she sheepishly catches up to her supervisor and squeaks an apology. The simple nod of his head is his only acknowledgement. Murky fluorescent lights illuminate an otherwise dark hallway. "Fletch is our hopeless case here. Kid pushes everybody away due to his personality disorder," he says. Leading her further down the corridor, her boss stops her in front of the only cell without clear windows. A chill of uncertainty cooly slides down her spine. The door unlocks with the simple swipe of a card. Before her big toe crosses the threshold, he plunks a clipboard in her hand. "Good luck," he says while taking his leave. Billie feels majorly unprepared as he leaves her and rounds a nearby corner.