I stared at him, perplexed.
"Due to unforeseen circumstances, I've been instructed to let you go," he repeated with a little more confidence.
"No, I heard you the first time, it's just..." At a loss for words, I let out a breath of air. Unforeseen circumstances? What in the name of Arapalia had I done? "I--well, then I'll just--just--" I rubbed my face in my hands and moaned quietly. "I guess I'll just get my things and go, then."
"Of course we'll give you a recommendation scroll to present to a new employer, and I'm sure you'll have no difficulty resuming your apprenticeship at another location..."
As what was happening sank in, I felt like I was drowning in a raging sea of panic; I couldn't breathe, I couldn't move, I couldn't speak, I couldn't think. How the hell was I going to pay for groceries? For rent? For clothes? I was already working extra jobs on the weekends and in the evening, and I couldn't fathom how I was going to manage without a dependable (if meagre) source of income.
Get a grip! I yelled at myself over the torrent of hysterical thoughts. Mastering the paralysis threatening to overcome me, I sidestepped M. Ilviny and approached my small desk. Through a nightmarish daze, I saw a pile of ancient tomes waiting to be translated, looming above me. Next to it on the desk was my Old Jadian to New Jadian dictionary, opened to an entry on 'kistyllwol'. It read, "Kistylwoll (kissed-till-wole), adj., describing something wishful and inaccurate or impossible. Alternate spellings: kistylwoel, kistylwolle." Sounded unnervingly like the plan I had had, just yesterday, to graduate my apprenticeship and become a librarian.
I turned to M. Ilviny, who was still rambling about recommendation scrolls. He was twisting the corner of his grey vest, eyeing me anxiously. "You'll be alright, dear, won't you?"
"Yes, of course," I said, fabricating a smile that felt like a grimace. "If you could just get me something to put my belongings in?"
He fetched me a wicker basket and I loaded my dictionary and a few other things into it. Noticing that he was still gazing at me with a concerned look in his eyes, I quickly glanced away, hiding the impending tears of rage and desperation that were gathering in my eyes. "I hope you'll be alright without an assistant?"
"Of course, dear. You're so sweet." He smiled at me, burrowing deep creases in his cheeks. "Goodbye, I suppose."
"Goodbye, M. Ilviny." I turned and walked away before I could start sobbing.
When I stepped out onto the street, a fierce slew of rain was pouring from the slaty sky with a vengeance. "Dejemari!" I swore. At least it hid the tears that were now streaming hopelessly down my cheeks. My feeble umbrella was no match for the storm, and I was too broken to put any effort into a spell to keep dry. Dejected, I scanned the street, not sure what I was looking for. Bakeries, corner stores, and clothing boutiques, all scared me away with their jauntiness and optimism; I wasn't capable of smiling, much less maintaining pleasant small talk with strangers. My eyes finally landed on the broom renter's business. "Cheap transportation for the middle-class magician!" a sign in the window yelled. Well, that was me, though it seemed that I was rapidly becoming an impoverished lower-class.
Clutching the wicker basket to my chest, I rushed out into the frenzied traffic, indifferent to the yells of angry drivers. On both sides, bicycles splashed through puddles, covered carriages rattled against the cobblestones, and a few fearless Jades rode their domesticated dragons.
Somehow I reached the other side of the street unharmed. As I stood, one foot still in the grimy gutter, I felt something brush my waist. Turning around, I saw a child dashing away into the chaotic street. "Hell!" I wailed in frustration, feeling for my wallet to no avail. "Of all the damned days, today?" A couple of people looked at me curiously, but I was past caring. Heck, I was past feeling.
I didn't really remember how I got back to the apartment; all I could recall was relentless rain slamming into me, and the wind howling into my ears and invading my mind. But I must have followed the streets home, for I arrived at the wands shop below my apartment and started pounding at the door. In my distress, it did not occur to me to use the back door to get into the apartment, nor to try opening a door with its handle instead of assaulting it with rage. The sturdy oak door barely trembled beneath my desperate wrath, and giving up, I leaned against it helplessly.
"Dejin' idiot! Who in hell's realm is banging at my door like a maniac?" the shop owner grumbled as he tugged open the door. I stumbled back, taken by surprise. "Ms. Aflister? Why, what in the world has happened?" I frowned at him silently, tears still trickling down my face. "I--come in, I guess," he muttered, running his hand through his wild red hair. It spiked upward like flames--flames that would soon be put out by the rain, just as my soul had been recently extinguished--
I shook myself out of my reverie, finally registering where I was. I stared blankly at the shop owner, struggling to recall his name. "Flynn...Phil...Finnian!" I mumbled to myself, probably giving the mildly accurate impression that I had gone crazy. "Uh, sorry, Finnian, I believe I was confused. I won't bother you any longer," I said, slowly backing away. "I'll, uh, see you later." I definitely sounded like an idiot. But I really didn't care. I just needed to shut myself in the privacy of my room and have a freak-out session, the sooner the better.
Composing myself, I said, painfully aware that it might be the last time I was saying it, "And, I'll--have this month's rent in to you by Friday." Then I turned and made as graceful an exit as I could, leaving the safety of the awning and returning to the deluge of rain. I quickly followed the damp brick wall around the corner and to the door leading to my apartment. I mounted the narrow staircase, frustration and despair echoing in every footstep.
"Frieda! That you? You're home early!" Petra inquired loudly from her room.
"Shut up," I muttered.
"Aw, don't be an ass."
"Shut up!" I repeated, louder, frustration seeping into my voice. I regretted my tone the moment I spoke, but made no attempt to apologize. As I reached the landing, Petra opened her door and peaked out. "What's up, darling?"
"I don't want to talk about it," I mumbled, directing my gaze at the ratty beige carpet that ineffectively cloaked the floor. Faded camels trotted dolefully around the perimeter, tails tucked and heads bowed.
"C'mon," she coaxed, opening her door further. "I won't say anything."
"Like hell."
"Well, maybe I will." Smiling gently, she stepped into the hall and took my hand, tenderly guiding me into her room. I made no effort to resist. As I looked at her wavy ebony hair that rolled off her back like a breeze at midnight, an unfamiliar part of me felt comforted by the feel of her palm against mine.
1,222 words
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