Fired from job(Raj) My manager, Mr. Henry Neville, sat emperor-like in a high-backed leather chair. He pushed away from his desk and joined his hands to form a steeple.
“Listen, Jay.” He held his breath, then let a tiny puff of air escape from his lips. “I want to make sure we have no confusion between us. I know you’ve done a great job over the last ten months, but the survival of the company is at stake, and we have no choice but to trim our workforce.” He spoke softly yet with a practiced delivery, as if he had rehearsed this speech a dozen times.
Fury began to settle into my gut. “But... but I did everything right, the IT infrastructure has been running smoothly since I came in. During my lunch time, I even volunteered myself to wear this awkward pit-bull mascot when no one was willing to. Please, Mr. Neville, I really need this job!” Even the soothing sound of the indoor water fountain did little to calm my nerves.
My colleagues had even nicknamed me, ‘Jay the raging pit-bull.’

“I’m sorry, kid, but the company was badly hurt during this financial crisis, and we’ve been forced to lay off some of our highest-quality employees.” Henry leaned back in his chair and ran his hand over his head. Only then did I notice the brand-new Omega watch glimmering on his wrist.
My spine stiffened, and my tone turned nasty. “From what I can tell, I’m the only one being fired. Is it because your nephew told you that I was a troublemaker in high school?”
Henry let out an exaggerated sigh that seemed overreaching and fake. “My nephew and I have no hard feelings against you, besides we have no regrets working with someone like you.” Henry started to reach for his glass of water but withdrew his hand and instead pushed a small brown envelope across the table. “Here’s your salary for the week. I’m sorry, but it’s not totally up to me.” He refused to meet my gaze.
Not totally, but largely.

I clenched my fists and imagined my hands around his neck. Anger would be a pleasant release, but I quickly stifled my dangerous thoughts, the bitterness of it stinging my throat. “There’s something you should know about me. The only time I remember having regrets was when I killed my father and he died in my lap. I was seventeen years old then. From that day on, if I was ever going to have a regret, it meant just one thing: somebody was going to get hurt.”
Henry cleared his throat and loosened his tie. “Good luck, and close the door behind you on the way out. Thanks.” He turned his attention to a sheet of paper on his desk.
Suddenly the door jerked open.
“Uncle Henry?” It was his nephew, Patrick, who had recently joined the company. He stepped in, typing something on his BlackBerry, unaware of my presence.
One foot away from me, he raised his eyebrows. On an unsteady breath, he stepped back. His eyes widened. “Jay... ” He forced his eyes still, but the resulting petrified look only confirmed my suspicion that he was responsible for me being fired. “Didn’t… didn’t know you were here.” The words quivered in his throat.

Back in our high school days, Patrick had never failed to display his physical prowess, with a pair of eyes that always unsettled those who were less than willing to enter a fight. One day, however, he’d made the mistake of forging his vanity on the shattered remains of my best friend. I went into aggressive mode and he to the emergency room.

Patrick sent a nervous glance to Henry.
I narrowed my gaze. The only thing that was evident from my speechless demeanor was the stillness of an impending rant, the sense of something rearing up at the back of my raging psyche.
I suspected that Patrick’s eyebrow piercing was less of a fashion statement and more a way to mask the scar that I had inflicted, the day I’d ripped his ego apart with multiple blows.
Patrick slowly retreated, circling around the office desk, his eyes hooked on mine. He held on tightly to Henry’s chair, his fingers cramming into the leather.
Henry now had all of his attention on me, reading my every move. His hands snaked beneath the papers as he reached for his envelope knife.
My breath grew ragged. I felt the demon of my stifled impulses, the ferocious beast I carried within. It was a gravitational force pulling me toward bloodshed, beckoning me to hurt these two. The tips of my fingers began to itch.
I banged my fist against the table, and threw the glass of water against the fountain. Henry nearly jumped from his seat, and Patrick cringed, like a barnacle on the wall.
Forcibly holding myself together, I took the envelope and left the room, slamming the door behind me.

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