![]() The Three PapersA Story by Sami Khalil![]() Dare to succeed...![]() The Three Pages by
Sami S. Khalil Since cradle and infancy, I always considered
myself a lonely jar, empirically filled with curiosity. Growing up was
momentous, for someone mesmerized by knowledge and writing. Let me exclaim
something, when I stumbled upon good writings, they gave me pleasure and joy. I
continually thought, if hearts live for love, then minds mustn’t perish without
knowledge. Sometimes, I would pat myself on the back,
feeling butterflies dancing in my belly when I wrote something good. They all
felt like gaining some type of booty. That booty I would dole it out, sharing
it with co-workers, family and friends. I had that hunger and thirst, but they
were not of the mindless kind. Other times, I would be self-critical, but not
grumpy like my boss at Hammerhead Hardware. With sullen pouts, everyone called
him “The Sharp Tongue”, once cold, another time raging hot upon discovering
some employee reading, writing or just at idle. The old rooster crowed with indignation when he
saw stagnation. He had many a platitude, but not a single gratitude for
employees. I felt we were his cattle drive. I was chastised once for possessing
and reading a magazine containing famous publishers (I was fed up with the job
and looking for a publishing job or as a writer). As he threatened to fire me many
times, he finally did when he knew I would not put up with his nonsense (He
never led by example and had no inner peace). When I was let go, I felt
emancipated. The season of change was at hand. Without despair, hailing and heeding my friend’s
advice, I headed in earnest to this new job’s interview with a prestigious
publishing company. My engine was firing on all cylinders. I needed to be
reborn without a scorn. A motto played in my head: “From the dark to a creative
spark to a happy Lark…” I was dressed up in a fancy suit, carrying my gracious
resume in hand, downtown bound. Oh, my feelings sank when I took the elevator
to the 80th floor (It was around 110 story high). It was early morning. The sun eased herself up
from slumber. I pensively stepped down the hallway till I reached the offices. What a
stark difference between these luxurious offices and my old job (A mockery of
minimalism)! What a cute secretary! After my greeting, I asked her to see Mr. Billings
while she secretly surveyed me from head to toe, soaking up her inner storms. I
was asked to wait in his lavish office till he finished a board meeting. As I
recalled, rumors have it that he was a talisman; the apex of class and style. Looking around, I felt indulged in his many awards
and trophies. It dawned on me that I was in the presence of an accomplished man
(I'd better not mess up). My emotions danced as a trespasser away from the simple
affairs of impulses. As the time was nigh, he entered the room like a glaring
light. I sensed a coastal wind through a stifled sea. He shook my hands as my
ears cozied up to an impressive voice. He sat on his fine desk, wasting no
time. As he talked, I heard fire sirens putting out my fears. Instinctively, my
ashen smiles had the looks of withdrawals. With a little speech and, like a
commander with purpose, he proffered a stern instruction. He said: “Listen, son! I have lots of candidates
for this job. You give the impression of a talented fellow, but let me tell you
something, whoever writes the best articles on three things of my choosing,
gets the job. Although I was sitting, I felt as standing erect as a soldier. He
continued saying, “Do you see this chair? Yes, this chair?! Gaze your eyes at
this light. Also, this Persian rug. Now, weave your thoughts as it is woven.
Gather your notes as the others are noted. A good writer must be able to write
on any subject, any time, any place. Understood! Write me three papers. One for
each subject. After you have finished, just mail them back to my office. Upon
reading and reviewing, I will decide the winner. Good Luck.” Then leaving the building, I looked up to see the
office up in the clouds. As I drove off, the car chugged. I was
out of gas. Surely, I was out of gas but not of great, forthcoming ideas. Well,
the entrepreneur sees possibilities. The writer sees pages. Mine was three.
Come to find out, I was informed after my submissions that my writing was
the most auspicious. I got the job. The butterflies were dancing in my stomach
again… © 2021 Sami KhalilReviews
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5 Reviews Added on December 21, 2020 Last Updated on January 23, 2021 Author
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