But one glance given by the boss was enough to see she'd better go.

She stood up, her thighs unsticked from the chair with a characteristic sound. It hurted a little but she didn't care. Her work wasn't accepted. It was too boring. The statement shook her so much the ticking clocks didn't annoy her anymore. She whispered a quiet goodbye and rushed out of the office. Once she was standing, she wasn't unstable so much as numbed.

With the door shuting behind her, she tried to take a deep breath. The inhale wasn't clear, but still better than nothing.

Slowly, though not as proudly as before, she walked down the hall back to the elevator. What was she going to do?

She needed money. The apartment she bought about a half a year ago was just too expensive. She knew it but would never admit it out loud. It was necessary to reach the life level she always dreamed about. She lived hand to mouth, renouncing more food than what was necessary to survive, which caused her weight loss. The loss wasn't too bad so far. She had received a few compliments ever since, so she considered it as a bonus pro of her luxurious flat. But what if she'd lose it and couldn't afford a meal anyway?

She felt a cold sweat when she imagined all the troubles she'd have to face from debts to sleeping in the Central park among all the homeless. While she waited for the elevator, she heard someone calling her, "Hey, Whitney, how's it going?"

She turned around to see Jeff coming comfortably closer to her.

"Did Channing like it?"

She felt her blood boiling. Was he kidding her? He had to know how bad it went and now he came to laugh at her. Where the hell was the elevator? She let out a sigh to calm herself before she spoke. "Look, Jeff, I'm really not in a mood for this."

The elevator door opened with a clink. It was the greatest rescue to her that day.

"My name's Jonathan!" He seemed hurt but she quickly jumped in the cabin.

"Sure, whatever you say, Jonathan." she waved carelessly before the door shut and she was alone again.

She leaned against the metal wall. The farther from Channing's office the more angry she felt. How could he be so ruthless? All he did was sit in his super office and read. Yet he had a sure payment, the salary was more than enough, and he didn't even have to move out of his comfort zone. Meanwhile she had to disappear in a jungle, risk her own life, and what did she have? Nothing. It was so unfair!

What hurt the most was the thought of losing what she achieved so far. She had her dream. She was going to live the life of a rich woman so that anyone walking by would turn around to see her walk away, leaving them with a wish to live like her. That was all she wanted from life— people wishing to live like her—Sarah Whitney: The Famous Writer. A homeless hungry chick was so far away from what she aimed that her nerves started to shake her body.

A quick hope that her parents would financially support her ran through her mind but she shook her head as if she wanted that idea to fall out of it. She'd never admit how poor she was, especially to her mother who was sceptical about her work as it was.

As the elevator was sinking down the building, Sarah heard her mother's voice talking, "The flat's too expensive, a simple attic would be enough for you. Why do you even have to move to New York? Isn't Indianapolis enough for you? There is a help wanted in the local press so you wouldn't have to move out. And if you really don't want to live with us anymore, you can always find a flatmate to help you pay the bills here."

She let out a sigh. Her mother never trusted her. She could take care of herself and she was willing to do anything to prove it. That meant not admitting she was broke. She had to help herself on her own.

Sarah rushed out of the building, suddenly ashamed of her failure. The sunshine that was beaming onto asphalt and bricks of the street made her gasp. She didn't expect the air to be that hot outside. Streets couldn't be air-conditioned as well, could they? She made a disgusted face; the high temperature made her feel dizzy.

She was about to catch a cab but then she realised she had no money to spend on it. She'd have to go on foot in such a hell that was the heated city of New York.

"God fucking dammit!" she shouted in hope of making herself feel better. A few people turned around—all she wanted—but they definitely didn't think about how great she was. She looked like a freak, catching breath and swearing. She calmed down a little, deciding to keep it to somewhere where no one would hear her. Maybe to her apartment which was no longer going to be hers.

"Screw it," she mumbled under her breath. In no way was she going on foot in this weather. She'd use the underground.

Sarah aimed to the nearest underground station. So many people were pushing on the stairs down that she nearly fell four times. Once, an older man stood on her foot and refused to step aside to release her. She was pushed on the wall where a dog peed on her,as if using underground with ordinary people wasn't embarrassing enough. She felt lost. So many bodies were around her that she completely lost her orientation. This was exactly why she didn't want to travel this way.

But then, all of a sudden, like a flash from a clear sky, a train appeared and the crowd disappeared in it, taking her inside too. No matter how much she cried she didn't want to use this one, no one cared. It seemed like all they cared about was to get in the train and leave this place, which she'd like too.

It seemed that for as long as the train wasn't completely empty, she wouldn't be able to leave it.

"Excuse me, sir," she adressed a man in a black suit, who looked the neatest, "Where is this train's final stop?"

He looked at her, obviously considering whether or not to answer. What a nice behaviour, she thought with irony.

"Brooklyn." he answered after a solid minute of silence.

That was enough for her. She weakly sat down on a seat that was now free, giving up. She had no power to fight today's bad luck. All she managed to do was sit still and wait.