Chapter two
773 Words
I should’ve known.
Honestly, I should’ve known.
When a manager says, “We’ll discuss your position later,” what they really mean is: “Start emotionally detaching immediately.”
But me? I chose delusion.
Respectfully.
My phone buzzed while I was still sitting on that bench like a temporarily unemployed philosopher.
I didn’t rush.
Because at this point, I already knew.
Bad news doesn’t knock—it settles in.
The email subject line read:
Employment Status Update
“Ah,” I muttered. “My favorite genre.”
I opened it.
And there it was.
Short. Clean. Efficient.
Corporate execution.
Due to repeated performance concerns…
I didn’t even finish reading.
I leaned back slightly.
“Okay,” I said. “So we’re doing layoffs with personality now.”
A pause.
Then, because I refuse to suffer silently:
“Noted.”
Another email came in immediately.
This one had more confidence.
Too much confidence.
It explained that my remaining salary and personal belongings would be sent to my address.
“Ah,” I said again, softer this time. “So I’ve been professionally removed from existence. Lovely.”
I stared at the screen.
Then nodded like I was reviewing someone else’s downfall.
“Let’s talk later,” I muttered, scrolling back.
I scoffed.
“Yeah. ‘Later.’ The universal corporate word for never again.”
By the time I got home, there was already a package at my door.
I stopped.
Looked at it.
It looked expensive.
Too polite to be mine.
“My things,” I said slowly.
Beside it was an envelope.
Salary.
Priorities first.
Always.
I opened it.
Checked the amount.
Paused.
Checked again.
“…three hundred dollars?”
Silence.
I looked around like someone was going to jump out and say, “April Fools.”
No one did.
“Ah,” I said quietly. “So this is what my suffering is worth in today’s economy.”
I folded it back carefully.
Respectfully.
Like it had feelings.
I sat on my bed, still fully dressed.
Bag still on my shoulder.
Life still slightly falling apart.
“Okay,” I said. “We’re fine. We are emotionally stable. We are just… temporarily underfunded.”
I opened my phone notes.
Typed:
Salary: $300
Rent: $500
Paid: $100 already
Remaining: $400
Current financial status: spiritually negative
I paused.
“…that’s not math,” I muttered. “That’s a crime scene.”
I started calculating.
Slowly.
Like my brain was protesting.
“Okay,” I said. “Three hundred. Rent four hundred remaining. I’ll pay one fifty now…”
Pause.
“…and keep one fifty for survival.”
I nodded.
“That’s food. Transport. And pretending I’m fine.”
I leaned back.
“Solid plan,” I told myself.
Then immediately added:
“Which means it will fail.”
Outside, New York kept moving like nothing had happened to me.
Rude.
Cars honked.
People laughed.
Someone was living their best life two feet away from my emotional collapse.
I sighed.
“Okay Elena,” I said. “New chapter.”
I pointed at myself.
“Unemployed. Slightly broke. Still alive.”
Beat.
“Main character. Unfortunately.”
My phone buzzed again.
I ignored it.
Then again.
And again.
I groaned.
I picked up the phone
A job listing.
Pinned.
Highlighted.
Like it was waiting for me.
I squinted.
“Voss Industries,” I read slowly.
Silence.
“…that sounds like a company that ruins lives professionally,” I muttered.
I clicked it.
The name loaded fully.
Big. Powerful. Quietly terrifying.
I leaned back.
“Yeah,” I said. “This one definitely fires people for blinking wrong.”
A pause.
Then I smiled slightly.
“…perfect.”
I clicked Apply.
I stared at my ceiling again after that.
Two seconds of peace.
Maximum.
Then reality tapped me on the shoulder like, hello, you are still broke.
“Now, now,” I said out loud, sitting up. “Let’s order a bucket full of ice cream to ease my pain.”
I nodded to myself like this was a very logical financial decision.
Because it was.
In my head.
I smiled slightly.
“Yeah. That’ll fix everything temporarily.”
I grabbed my phone again.
Scrolling confidently.
“Oh,” I added, casually, “I spend recklessly. Why do you think my rent hasn’t been paid yet?” I say to no one exactly.
I had no shame.
I Just stated facts.
I found it.
Ice cream bucket.
$50.
Perfect.
“Perfect,” I repeated, tapping order like I wasn’t currently unemployed.
I leaned back again, satisfied.
“At least I have my priorities straight.”!
- Writer
