Jacob slumped in his chair, the rejection letter lying before him like an unwelcome guest. The word ‘Rejected’ glared back at him in stark red, as if to underscore his string of unsuccessful job applications.

‘Why is it so hard?’ he thought, frustration simmering within. ‘I’m 29, jobless again. Maybe things would’ve been different if I’d been more focused earlier in life. But no, dwelling on the past won’t change my current predicament. I’ve got an interview result coming up; that’s what I need to focus on.’

“Jac?” His mother’s voice interrupted his brooding.

“Yeee?” he responded, not turning from the window.

“Is this your interview application for tomorrow? You really should keep better track of your things,” she chided gently.

“Alright, mom,” he called back, pushing himself out of the chair with a sigh.

As he traversed the short hallway of their modest three-bedroom house, he couldn’t help but feel the weight of his situation. ‘Still living with my parents at 29,’ he mused bitterly.

In the kitchen, he retrieved the form his mother had mentioned. ‘Better double-check everything,’ he thought, scanning the document.

Name: Jacob Brown; Gender: Male; Age: 29.

Every detail was a stark reminder of where he stood—a man approaching thirty, grappling with the relentless tide of life’s expectations and his own aspirations.

Jacob lingered in his room, the darkness outside his window a stark contrast to the flicker of hope within him. “Everything’s lined up perfectly. The interview went smoothly, and that job is as good as mine,” he reassured himself, though the clock’s hands nearing midnight reminded him of the need for rest.

The echo of past rejections haunted him, a litany of ‘what ifs’ and ‘if onlys’ that threatened to overwhelm. With a sharp slap to his own cheek, he silenced the doubts. “Enough self-pity, Jac. Time to rest up for tomorrow.”

Rising from his chair, he made his way to his bed, the day’s anxieties receding with each step.

…

The morning sun heralded a new day, and with it, Jacob’s resolve solidified. Dressed in his finest suit, he partook in a quick breakfast before stepping out into the brisk London air. The train station bustled with the morning rush, a sea of faces, each absorbed in their own routine.

'Look, I feel like I'm in a zombie movie. People's faces are motionless, as if they are all dead. Bodies that only get up, work, and return home every day... hmm... at least they have a job.’

“The train will arrive in one minute,” announced the intercom, its static buzz a familiar prelude to his daily commute.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

Fifteen minutes by train and a twenty-minute walk later, Jacob arrived at the company’s doors, which slid open with a silent welcome. He navigated to the secretary’s desk, where a blonde woman greeted him with a practiced smile.

“Good morning, sir. How may I assist you today?” she inquired.

“I’m here for the results of my interview,” Jacob replied, handing over his form.

“Just a moment, please,” she said, turning to her computer.

Minutes ticked by, each one stretching longer than the last until she finally looked up.

“Mr. Jacob Brown, I’m sorry to inform you that we’ve chosen candidates whose qualifications more closely align with our needs. We wish you the best in your continued job search.”

The words struck Jacob like a physical blow. “What? But… everything seemed perfect,” he stammered, disbelief clouding his thoughts.

“I’m sorry, sir. I don’t have further details. That’s simply the outcome,” she responded with a sympathetic tilt of her head.

Reeling from the news, Jacob exited the building, his mind a whirlwind of confusion and frustration. Why hadn’t he been chosen? His performance had been flawless, hadn’t it?

Seeking solace, Jacob made a detour to the supermarket on his way home, grabbing two beers—his chosen companions for the night, the only ones capable of dulling the sting of his thoughts. He cracked open the first one as he walked, the cold alcohol sliding down his throat, its numbing warmth offering a brief reprieve from the ache of failure.

By the time he reached his doorstep, dread had settled deep in his gut. How could he face his parents? How would he tell them he couldn’t get the job they’d been so hopeful about? Disappointment loomed like a shadow over him. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but it did little to ease the weight in his chest.

He opened the door, stepping into the familiar warmth of home, and immediately heard his mother’s footsteps approaching.

“Jacob, honey, is that you? Did you get the job?” Her voice carried a mix of hope and worry, and it made his heart ache even more.

“Yeah, Mom, it’s me,” he answered, his voice heavy with exhaustion and guilt. He hesitated for a moment before the words tumbled out. “I’m sorry, Mom. I couldn’t get the job.”

There was a pause, just long enough for his heart to race. Then she was there, wrapping him in a hug, her comforting words soft in his ear. “It’s okay, Jacob. Don’t worry. You’ll find something else. I know you will.”

He wanted to believe her, but the turmoil inside him was too loud, drowning out her reassurances. “I’ll keep trying,” he promised, but the words felt hollow, the weight of his failure too heavy to shake off.

He gently pulled away from her embrace, bypassing his mother and heading straight for his room. The comforting hum of home surrounded him, but it did little to calm his stormy mind. As he closed the door behind him, he heard his parents' voices drifting from the kitchen.

"He didn’t get the job?" his father asked, concern evident in his tone.

“No,” his mother replied, her voice low with worry. “I’m worried about him.”

"Don't worry," his father said after a pause. "He's a man. He'll overcome it."

Their words echoed faintly in his mind, but he was too drained to react. He collapsed onto his bed, still in his suit, and opened the second beer. The room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the ceiling fan above. He took a long sip, the alcohol settling in his veins like a familiar friend.

Staring up at the ceiling, Jacob felt sleep pulling at him, offering a temporary escape from the day's disappointments. His eyes fluttered shut, and the world around him began to blur.

‘Let’s just sleep for now,’ he told himself, sinking deeper into the mattress. ‘Tomorrow, I’ll figure out what to do next.’

With that final, fleeting thought, sleep claimed him, and the burdens of the day faded into the quiet abyss of unconsciousness.