Born To Kill

I cautiously opened the door, feeling a surge of nerves. Why was I so jittery? I couldn't quite pinpoint it. Despite feeling confident about the interview so far, I knew I had to ace it to secure the job I wanted.

"Please take a seat; we'll get started soon," the lady and the man instructed, both engrossed in some documents, paying no attention to me. They were both strikingly attractive, with features that suggested a mixed racial background, much like mine.

"Introduce yourself," the man commanded, his tone unpleasant and without even a glance in my direction.

Internally, I groaned. Why was I here again? I thought to myself, resisting the urge to clear my throat.

"Good morning, sir, ma'am. I'm Emma Gradon," I began, "I hold a master's in Industrial Psychology, a degree in Business Intelligence and Data Analysis, and I have five years of work experience. I'm particularly interested in the head of strategic planning position at your company."

Finally, the man looked at me, his expression turning pale.

"Wait a minute... you're supposed to be dead! I saw it right in front of my eyes," he exclaimed, startling me. The woman's reaction mirrored his shock as she stood up to comfort her colleague.

"Excuse me!! Dead!?" I exclaimed in disbelief as the man abruptly stormed out of the room, leaving me stunned and confused. His words echoed in my mind, filling me with a strange mixture of apprehension and disbelief. I exchanged a Shocked glance with the woman present, who urged me to wait as she hurriedly followed her colleague out of the room.

Left alone with my thoughts, I couldn't shake off the surreal feeling that lingered in the air. The accusation had been so absurd, so utterly unfounded, that I struggled to comprehend its significance. "Now I look like a dead Kiwi woman (People born in New Zealand or Citizens of New Zealand are known as Kiwi's)," I muttered to myself incredulously, the absurdity of the situation made me loose myself for a second.

As I reflected on the bizarre encounter, I couldn't help but wonder about the man's reaction. What had made him give me such an extreme response? And why had he pointed me out in such a bewildering manner? The implications of his accusation left me feeling unsettled and unnerved.

In the midst of my confusion, I couldn't ignore the nagging feeling that there was more to the situation than met the eye. The man's reaction had been so over the mark, so intense, that it left me questioning his sanity. "He didn't look like the type to just lose control," I mused, recalling the brief but intense encounter.

Minutes passed, each one stretching into an eternity as I waited anxiously for the woman to return. When she finally reappeared, her composed demeanour belied the strangeness of the situation. "Ms. Gradon, right?" she inquired calmly, as if nothing out of the ordinary had transpired.

"Yes, that is right," I replied, struggling to maintain my composure in the face of the surreal events that had unfolded. As she proceeded to address me with polite professionalism, I couldn't help but wonder about the mysteries that lay beneath the surface.

In the aftermath of the encounter, I found myself grappling with unanswered questions and lingering doubts.

Her: I apologize for my boss's behaviour. You bear a striking resemblance to someone from our past, although that's not an excuse, I'm sorry.

Emma: Okay... I mean, I didn't know what to say. I guess that explains it.

Her: Right, let's get this started. Besides your qualifications, what else can you tell us about yourself?

When she noticed my surprise at her asking for personal information, she did so in a polite manner.

Her: You catch on very fast. Yes, I am asking you for personal information. Can you blame me? You look like a deceased friend of mine.