Year: 2100
City: Simple City
Inside a building, three men in suits sat behind a long table. Papers were stacked neatly before them. The air smelled faintly of ink and stale coffee. Across from them sat a young man, twenty-five years old, his black hair slightly messy, his tie pulled too tight.
Rose Flower.
He had been here for hours, waiting for their verdict. The ticking clock above the door felt louder with every second. It wasn't his first time sitting like this. He already knew what they were going to say. Still, he waited. Maybe this time would be different.
One of the men finally looked up from the files. "Mr. Flower, we don't have a job opportunity for someone with no experience."
The words hit him like a cold wave. His fingers twitched. His chest rose and fell as he tried to breathe through the pressure inside him.
The man in the middle flipped through the papers again. "What have you been doing for the last four years anyway? Your credentials are good, but without experience, I'm sorry. We can't give you this position."
Rose lowered his gaze. His hands tightened around the edge of the chair until his knuckles turned white. The faint sound of paper shuffling filled the silence.
"We don't have anything else to say," the man continued. "You can leave now and call in the next person."
Rose didn't move. He just sat there, head bowed, chest rising and falling slowly as he fought to keep his voice steady. For a long moment, the only sound in the room was the quiet hum of the air conditioner.
Then he lifted his head. His tired eyes met theirs. Something inside him cracked open.
He loosened his tie slightly, letting out a shaky breath. "You asked what I've been doing for the last four years?" he said. "This. This is what I've been doing."
He leaned forward. "The moment I graduated, I thought my life was set. I thought I'd find a job, buy a house, get a car, maybe meet a beautiful girl and get married, have kids… Isn't that what everyone dreams of?"
He gave a weak laugh that sounded closer to a sob. "But the moment I walked into my first interview, I was rejected. Over and over again. Rejection became part of me. I became a crazy job hunter. That's what I've been doing for four damn years."
One of the men sighed. "Please leave before we call security."
Rose stood up slowly, the chair scraping softly against the tiled floor. He picked up his files and turned toward the door, but stopped halfway. His breathing was rough now, almost like he had run miles just sitting there.
He turned back, tears gathering in his eyes. "You know… every single day, I studied nonstop. I made sure I got good grades. I never missed a single class. I did everything right. And for what?" His voice broke. "All of it just ended up in the trash. My hard work meant nothing."
Before they could react, he tore his files apart, page by page. Paper fluttered through the air like broken feathers, scattering across the clean floor.
The man nearest the phone quickly dialed a number. Within seconds, two security guards burst into the room.
They grabbed Rose by the arms and began to drag him out.
"How the hell am I supposed to have experience if no one will give me a job!" he shouted, his voice echoing through the hallway as the doors slammed behind him.
Outside, everyone in the waiting line froze. No one said a word. The air felt heavy.
Only the sound of torn paper remained, whispering across the floor.
"Get out of here, loser," one of the guards said as he shoved Rose to the ground. They walked back inside the building without another glance.
Rose sat there for a long time, dazed. His palms stung from the rough shove, but the ache in his chest hurt more. The world around him blurred as the sunlight hit his face, warm but suffocating. He breathed in, slow and shaky. His throat burned.
He didn't move. The city around him moved too fast, too bright. People walked past without looking twice. Cars honked. Somewhere in the distance, a siren wailed.
This wasn't how he imagined his life would turn out. At twenty-five, he was supposed to have it all together. A stable job, a small apartment, maybe even a car. Instead, he was still living with his parents, eating their food, pretending every day that he was doing fine.
They never complained. They never asked for anything. But deep down, Rose wanted to surprise them someday. Maybe buy a car for his dad. Or help his mom expand her little business. Something, anything, that would make them proud.
But what could a jobless son do?
He breathed out, long and low. His shoulders trembled slightly. He stared blankly at the passing cars, their reflections flashing across his tired eyes. Somewhere deep inside, a bitter laugh escaped his throat.
Even his neighbor's son, the one who dropped out of high school, now had his own house. Last month, that same boy came home in a brand-new car. Rose had seen it from his window, the engine humming proudly. The same boy he once mocked for skipping classes was now living the dream he used to pray for.
Now the tables had turned huh.
Rose lay back on the concrete, arms spread out, the sky spinning above him. The clouds looked close enough to touch, yet so far they might as well belong to another world.
People walking by gave him strange looks, but he didn't care. He had nothing left to lose. His breath came slow and uneven, catching between exhaustion and disbelief.
If it weren't for his parents, he would probably be sleeping on the streets.
A gentle breeze brushed over his face. For a second, he closed his eyes. Maybe it was the wind, or maybe it was his mind trying to escape for a moment. Then, a memory surfaced like a ripple disturbing still water.
Last year, that same neighbor had offered him a small job card. Rose had laughed back then, his pride too heavy. A college graduate like him, working as a cleaner? The thought had been ridiculous. He almost threw the card away but, for some reason, he had slipped it into his wallet.
Now, with trembling fingers, he reached into his back pocket and pulled out his worn wallet. It was old, the edges frayed. Inside were faded receipts, a few cash, and the card.
He turned it over carefully, reading the bold letters.
"The Devilish Cleaning Service."
He frowned. What kind of name was that?
Still, he stared at it for a long time. The sunlight glinted off the glossy surface. His thumb brushed over the printed number.
Maybe this was all he had left.
He took out his phone. His hands shook as he dialed. His throat was dry.
It rang once. No answer.
He let out a shaky breath and tried again.
This time, someone picked up.
"Hello, Monkey. How are you doing? It's been a long time, my friend," Rose said, his voice caught somewhere between relief and embarrassment.
"What do you want?" a rough voice answered from the other end.
Rose swallowed hard. His pulse slowed. "I just wanted to ask… is the cleaning job still available?"