Sunday, 27 December 2015

Story #123 - A (short) Christmas story

Ben is 25. Up till Christmas he has done everything right. He studied something important at uni, such as Economy. Through that he found a job as a banker. It wasn't the most glamorous of places to work in, or positions to have, but it brought him fortune, stability, and the ability to have his own place. A nice little one bedroom flat, with kitchen, bathroom, and everything you'd need to have a healthy life and space to pursue desires, like building robots from cardboard.
Sure, it made him geeky, yet you have to have a weird passion in life in order to feel alive, right?
He though the same, until he ran into Rebecca. She became his muse. And did it feel like it.
Whenever the alarm would ring, he would spring to his heels like those toy marching band soldiers that rise from boxes, and do twenty push-ups. Just like that. His biceps were ripped for the first time.
One shiny morning, on the 20th of December, as he was buying presents, he received a text message from his workplace. "I regret to inform you, but as of today you no longer work with us." From Melissa, the assistant of the branch.
Three trickles of water poured down his cheek and made him question himself. He either had to continue and pretend like it didn't happen, or give up and have a rubbish holiday.
As easy as it was to give up, bitch, moan, he wanted his girlfriend to be happy. And he wanted to be happy himself. He knew that once he'd go down the complaining path, he'd feel sorry for himself.
Things turned out well. He was offered a job in the first week of January, in a more advanced position in a different bank, and he never looked down since.

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