Page 60

Seán Ó'Meáçáir

I walked to the front desk and was told to take a seat, whomever I am to talk to has been expecting me. A buzz is heard from a machine under the front desk and an usher walks to me and gestures for me to go ahead in to the room with floorto-ceiling frosted glass doors. Beautiful, yet so daunting. He opens one of the doors and I slide myself in. I take a seat. The room is warm with sunshine, the wood desk and coffee table complimenting the feel. The man to whom this office belongs walks up to me, greats me with a booming voice, shakes my hand and offers me a drink. He’s French. I don’t know whether to actually take him seriously or not, but then I reexamine the room, and note its prestige, and quickly take that drink and swallow all uncertainty. He starts with small talk, about the job, and so on and so forth until I get a bit anxious and move along. I asked him whether or not I should be worried with this meeting and if my job is stable. He simply replied, “Well, that is up to you.” Confused, I allowed him to continue. The conversation ensued, and as I walked out, I saw my future. It was a glorious idea in my head. The news I have been shipped back to Belgium to hear is that I am to be shipped to an undisclosed area

Something Oranje  

A historical novel focused around the life a tuberculosis patient and the Jewish Consumptives' Relief Society in Spivak, Colorado, just outs...

Something Oranje  

A historical novel focused around the life a tuberculosis patient and the Jewish Consumptives' Relief Society in Spivak, Colorado, just outs...

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