Aliyah's Unfolding Story Adventure

Chapter 1

It's a Saturday morning, 8 am, and an alarm clock sounds in a tiny flat on the outskirts of London. A girl, brunette, petite, and fairly pretty rolls over in her bed and tries to hit the snooze button, knocking a pair of glasses to the floor as she does so. "Mnf~" she mumbles, rubbing her eyes before scooping the glasses from the floor and putting them on her face.

She looks to the calendar on the wall and sighs… Running a hand through her hair in frustration as she swings her legs over the side of the bed. That Saturday was circled and written on in red ink, the two words reading "BIG INTERVIEW!".

20 minutes later, the girl hops out of the shower and inexpertly dries her hair. She obviously does not do so often as she grimaces while it takes another 20 minutes. She comes back to the bedroom and looks at the clock, jumping and muttering curses under her breath as she flies around the apartment, getting dressed in a suit that was already laid out as she goes. Finally in make-up and the business wear, grabs her purse, a portfolio, and a piece of toast, putting on shoes as she leaves.

The girl next door is putting out some mail as the fairly pretty, early-20's brunette hops out the door, putting on her second shoe. "Hey, Aliyah!" the neighbor girl calls as Aliyah runs by, toast half eaten, "Good luck today!"
"Thanks, Jane!" She calls back, over her shoulder, with a remnant of an American accent, "I'll tell you how it goes when I get back!"

She takes the underground to the center of the city, then walks several blocks until she reaches a huge office building, The Times' headquarters, going several floors up to reach the top journalism office. "Hello, may I help you?" The personal secretary asks. "Yeah, my name is Aliyah Sauer. I'm here for an 11:30 interview for the Journalist job." She answers, nervous.

The secretary smiles and says kindly, "I'll tell him you're here. Please take a seat-" gesturing to the chairs that Aliyah completely missed on the way in. Aliyah smiles and murmurs, "Thanks…" before taking a chair and pulling out a miniature crossword book from her purse.

After about 20 minutes, or 5 crossword puzzles, the secretary stands and says, "Let me just check on what's going on…"

She disappears into the next room and there's a faint buzzing and the light seems to flicker under the door. Aliyah assumes one of the lights in his office must be dying, and after a few minutes the woman comes back out. Her eyes are slightly glazed as she turns to the young journalist, saying, "I'm sorry, Ms. Sauer. It seems all the positions have been filled. If you would like to leave your portfolio, we will keep it on file for future job openings."

Back at the apartment…

"How twisted is that? I didn't even get an interview. Not a handshake. Nothing!"
Aliyah sat on Jane's couch, gesturing with the spoon she was using on a pint of self-pity ice cream.

Jane sat opposite, licking the spoon to her own sympathy ice cream. "I bet he's sleeping with her-" she said in her welsh-turned-londoner accent, "It's a stereotype for a reason." She added, digging her spoon into her pint like the ice cream had personally wronged her.

Jane, about Aliyah's age, was tall and willowy with fiery red hair.

"Oh great. I lost an interview with The Times for my favorite journalist spot so Mr. Boss-man can get a piece of-"
"Ask if they have any freelance positions, then!" Jane interrupted sensibly. "After all, even one article in The Times is a great addition to your résumé." However, Aliyah was a bit too depressed to be sensible. "Hmm. I dunno… Maybe I'll call back tomorrow evening." she said as she picked at her pint of frozen goodness.

~~~
Two chick flicks and a phone call later, and Aliyah is back in her own apartment, reheating leftover Chinese. She sighs and sits down at the tiny excuse for a table, taking out that day's newspaper, highlighting and copying as she eats. After combing the job section three times and organizing it, she gives up and throws it aside, along with the highlighter, turning her attention to the news.

She reads through the political dribble that is the day's headline, mentally fixing mistakes the editor made. Then she moves on to the Art and Science sections, taking her time on her favorite articles. After she finishes that, she throws most of the paper aside, keeping a few science journal items in front of her as she pulls out her laptop.

The laptop is actually incredibly tiny, and more accurately described as a netbook. Chic, black, and equipped only with a media player, word, and the internet, there is already very little space. So she stores everything on data sticks.

She immediately pulls out a keychain completely covered in flash drives, all of which are individually labeled. She quickly and deftly locates one simply marked "3", plugging it in like she's done this a thousand times, before typing away for two and a half hours, occasionally referencing one of the articles. After the rather short block of writing is over, she saves it before putting everything away.

She looks at the glowing digits on her clock that tell her it's 10:45 and sighs, clearing the table and putting the computer, flash-drives, and a small stack of manuscripts and portfolios into a briefcase.

The takes of het blouse, bra, and the bottom half of her suit before slipping on silky pyjama pants and an oversized t-shirt before slipping back into bed. She ends up staring out the small window seen from her pillow- at the stars- for several more hours before sleep finally takes her.

~*~