Chapter Twelve:
434 Words
It was the kind of summer that pressed heavily against your chest. The air felt thick, almost viscous, as I stood on the worn concrete steps of my high school, the last bell of my life as a student ringing in my ears. Salutatorian: a distinction I carried like a banner, yet somehow made of cloth too coarse to wear with pride. My mother’s words echoed in my mind, sharp and critical, drowning out the applause that had briefly surrounded me.
“Why weren’t you first?” she had asked, disappointment etched deep into her features. I had said nothing in response, preferring the silence that shielded me from her scrutiny. **
Months passed, and I clutched my meager brown cardboard box of supplies—the kind that could epitomize the weight of my failures. I landed an internship as an ISP Technician, feeling a flicker of resolve amidst the chaos of my anxiety, depression, PTSD, and ADHD. The office smelled of burnt coffee and stale air, a setting too familiar for comfort. Yet, I thrived here. The skills I had polished through years of social struggle suddenly found purpose in wiring and troubleshooting.
The glances from my employer told me what I already knew: I was useful but weak. I felt the starkness of his gaze press down on me like a physical weight, as if he was already counting on my reluctance to speak up for myself. The terms of my employment, it seemed, were less about a contract and more about an unwritten agreement that I would accept whatever scraps he threw my way. Each week dragged on, the joyous promise of being busy fading into a monotonous struggle for validation. **
Three months passed, and my paycheck remained an elusive fantasy. I saw the other interns come and go, their enthusiasm like fireflies fading into the night, while I dulled into a shadow behind my desk. The chirping of the computer filled the silence of my lack of direction, each click a reminder of dreams I had quietly abandoned. The thought of quitting had flitted through my mind before, but it wasn't until one fateful day—when a colleague brought me news of his own promotion and the accompanying raise—that my resolve finally fractured.
“I can’t keep doing this,” I muttered to myself, my voice barely above a whisper. In that moment, fatigue washed over me, wrapping me in a shroud of apathy. Soon after, I resigned with a disheartened sigh; the tether to ambition that once fueled my drive had snapped.
To Be Continued...
- Writer
