The Interview


Jobless men all over Chicago wore a grin on their face; maybe their first since the “Depression” had torn the city into pieces. Lumps embodied the throats of these men.  Making a mere swallow was a task within itself. A construction project had arisen, an opportunity for at least a thousand men to earn a good wage. Richard Larose put on his suede jacket and his leather hat, accompanied by a bright red luggage case. He had never broken a sweat since the Depression hit, he had it made since the moment he was cut from the umbilical cord. Being born into wealth he had received a large inheritance. Never, had to work a day, move a wary muscle, or bat an unwanted eye, to get where he was. He was set.



Rich walked to work with a purpose, he past men whose eyes were swelled with tears, their stomachs gorged with hunger. “Spare change.” The homeless said with a raspy tone. Rich had no tolerance for the weak and scrawny. He quickly bashed the man in the jaw, dislocating it with ease. The man did not whimper, nor shed a single tear. For pain had become bearable, pain to him was a constant ongoing battle between himself and the world that was destined to destroy him. The homeless fell to the ground and watched the waves of blood spill through his mouth and on to the paved sidewalk. Rich proceed to walk a few blocks, in the Chicago morning breeze. On his way Rich began to bask in his thoughts, wondering if his life meant anything anymore. Rich on heavy shoulders entered the office structure, with an irate glaze he looked at the secretary. She peeked at the man to find an unwanted present. Fear. She felt her heart drop, her throat lump, and the stench of his lavender cologne made her twitch. As he passed her into the stairwell he said, “Watch your back honey, if you know what’s good for you.”  


The first interviewee had entered the office, dragging his burden on hunched shoulders. He wore a grin, yet it was forced and extremely ugly. His build however, was amazing. His arms were much too big for his tight fitting t-shirt. His blonde hair sparkled his eyes showed years of torment. Those eyes sick tortured eyes disgusted Rich.

“Hello sir.” The interviewee said.

“Hello, Mr. Henry", Richard exclaimed with great confidence, “Do you have what it takes to be an effective worker.”

“Why, yes sir I will do whatever is for the best for the venture.” The words sounded to be forced and much less of genuine.

His words were not important to Rich. As a matter of a fact he had already decided this man was not the man for the job. He had decided that as soon as he gazed upon those weak eyes of his.

In fact, to Richard this man would have to die.

The End

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