Auna

Mia was convinced this was some torture ritual meant to stab at her aversion to social humiliation. Or any interaction at all for that matter. There she was, bright, smiling, cutting, and examining her with precision that only a job recruiter could manage. Before coming in, Mia prayed to God and imagined herself as charming, witty, and quick. She urged the manifestation of that part of herself. With all the confidence of a balloon filled with hot air, Mia strutted by blistered heel to the table, with a hand outstretched, only to look at her in her terrifyingly crystal blue eyes and find her own reflection in them. Mia was speechless. It was like staring at a Sphinx dead on. 

If you asked Mia to recall the conversation, she wouldn’t have a clue what was said. It was less like a conversation and more like a volley of words exchanged between them, with the recruiter serving each time, urging her onto the next subject. She walked away feeling coddled for incompetence.