Arms ached, leg shuffled. His persistant backache sending him waves of hell for every step he took. The work was putting a toll on him, he realised, as he slouched his way back to his small rented hut on the 8 storey. Exhausted as he was, he recalled what his tyrant boss told him:
"Youre got fu*ked results for your performance that day.. Jim, you better make bloody appropriate arrangements soon before i do."
Upon receiving the news, his heart shuddered. Sweat beads rolled down his wrinkled forehead. The selection were coming out soon?? Noooooooo! he silently screamed. The fate of his hardwork that he had put in were soon to be justified. So much, so much time and effort he had sacrifcied; days and days, nights and nights... labours of grinding teeth and crying bones... even from the very few glimses of sunlight till ember glows of evening sun rays emerge, he was putting in 100% of his effort. Would the judgement be fair to him?
Fears of failing threw him down a deep dark abyss. So fearful that he wouldnt even dare imagine of. It was impossible for him to fail... or was it? Vaguely, he recalled struggling against the cluthes of the selections, resisting a thousand days of fatigue during the day and suffering of a million nevous and sleepless nights. It was one of the worse situations ever, for a person to be examined under such cirumstances were totally imhumane, cruel and undeserving. He feared, shivered and reaked thro his pores, of terror. Failing this selection - would mean nothing to him, except death and nothing else but death.
Night could have fallen for Jim, and never to come up again.
The day of reckoning is near. approaching, is Ragnarok.
6 days.
