One

If someone would decide and tell him that his tattoo on his left arm was showing, he would celebrate, jumping up and down. Atleast someone would talk to him, but for the last five years he has been in that sick prison he called, no one dares to talk to him but that old man in front of his cage. Is it because he does not talk to them first? Or because he was accused of murdering someone intentionally?

He does not want to answer those questions as he is out now, both of his shoes are already out the gate where he was in custody for those good ol' five years, but is he free?

The answer is no, having been rejected for five times in a row for finding a job sucks when it all happened in one day, and yes, it is because he has a record of being a murderer.

He slumped on a wooden bench on one corner of a park to rest his now swollen feet, his tummy growled as the smell of an oily hotdog being sold on a cart passed his way. He rammed his hands on his pocket and was dissapointed to see that there are only two dollars left and he have to save for his lunch for tonight.

It is his second day of being quote and quote free of the prison, but it already feels like the whole world is falling down on his shoulder. He did applied for being a car mechanic, saying he had experiences before connecting with the job, but the petty gramp saw his face on the TV before as the well known murderer so he rejected him. Same goes as the other shops and stores that he applied for, "What will I do with my life?"

Crumpling the paper of his resume on his hand, he almost erased his face as he grunts. He thought of removing his tattoos just to lessen the way how people look at him, but he would rather save money rather than to use them to that laser thingy. It is not as affordable that anyone could think, well, for poor person like him.

His tattoo is fine, an angel wing on his left abdomen and a full on tattoo of randomness on the lower part of his left arm. It is art for him, but for other people, these are just dirty scribbles of demon in a human body. He even have silver earrings on his earlobe, making him look more 'demonic', as the people around him says.

What is the murderous thing that he had been punishing about, you ask?

The case was considered as manslaughter, involuntary-ish to be specific, but the whole world around him still ignorantly accused him for being a murderer.

Back then, he was working as a bounty hunter for the police and bailsman around their town or even outside, if he is lucky. But, luck tried him when he was asked to track down a guy named, Romero, an assasin slash fixer. The detective assigned to the case paid him to get that person as a suspect on a crime that he is handling.

One can say that that detective is desperate for a promotion, but he also wants to let an innocent suspect out and Romero is the answer. Unfortunately, the two got on the highest point of a building and our life prisoner here accidentally dropped him on the ground, killing the poor guy.

A lot of things happened that time, the detective got kicked out of his department because of this, and the framed suspect was imprisoned for who knows how many year.

He asked himself once if he would like to get back on track of being a bounty hunter, but his brain just gave up. He needs to have a stable, non-murderous and safe job, he is not getting old.

Diego Castillo, 6'' feet.

A one by one photo of him standing in front of a white screen, with an edited coat and tie, is beside his name in broad. His smile is as small as his hope and his eyes are as tired as his hands, holding on these printed papers. His hair is long, same goes as his beard.

"I need a makeover." he giggled to himself, "How would I get a wife if I look like this?"

He traced his hair using his hands, making the sweat on his forehead stick on his palm. He wiped it using his worn out jeans, as he decides to walk a bit more. Swearing if he will not see any job wanted posters right now, he would let himself starve and die.

Passing the group of kids playing on a horrendous swing full of tetanus, he turned on a corner where the city of bright and huge buildings reside. He thought that he is out of his mind if he will try and look at some of this huge ass corporations when he did not even finished his senior high school.

He breathed, "Diego, you are a hungry bastard, do not act like a coward right now." he told himself and walked through the crowd of people.

He is only wearing his brown sweater and black—fading to white—jeans, while he wait for the stoplight for humans to turn green and when it did, he walked with people wrapped in tuxedo and stress. The tip of his head slightly protruding on the sea of formalities, he stopped in front of a huge building.

Walking in the entrance, the securities started blocking him, he sighed and changed his mind, leaving the mountains of muscle alone. Turning on another corner, he saw another tall building with four bodyguards standing outside. He breathed and walked to them.

"Hi man!"

The man whom he approached looked at him with his emotionless eyes and face, the thing is, he did not move to block him so he continued, "My name is Diego Castillo, I would like to ask if you have any openings for a guy like me?"

He looked at him from shoe to his eyes, he did not replied, "Man, I need your help, I am starving and I need a job." he whispered.

"We need a personal body guard, see if you will suffice. Go inside and talk to the front desk." His eyes glistened and his ears pounded.

Is this for real? He thought.

"Go, before I change my mind and drag you out of here."

He thanked the man and proceeded to enter the building which smelled like mint and lavender. Everyone is wearing the typical office attire, his body shivered when he looked up, "This is nuts."

There were glass panels covering the whole floor and the raised side of the building is still visible to where he is, this is a very huge company. If he is not desperate enough, he would have stormed out.

When he is in front if the lady at the information desk, he tried to straighten his resume and give it to the lady who smiled sweetly at him, "I am applying for uhh, bodyguard. Personal body guard."

"Oh, yeah." she grabbed his resume, ignoring the crumpled sides of it and clipped it on a board. There were few forms included to it and she checked what was needed to be filled out, "Here is your application form hon, go to floor twelve and fill that up. Do you have an identification card?"

Her voice matched the way she smiled at him, not even looking at his tattoos or his earings but focusing on what she was instructing him. Diego nodded and gave her the card, in which she exchanged for a number.

"You are our fifteenth candidate for this day. Good luck!"

"Thank you!" he smiled once more and grabbed the number from her hand. His shoe clicked on the marble floor as he walk to the elevator that would bring him to his job interview.

He can not believe what was happening at that moment. Who would have thought that he would be applying on a huge company like this, then he remembered, he does not even know the name of the company.

He looked at the number card that the lady gave him and read what was written and highlighted on top, "Handlife Insurance Company. Cool."

He slipped the lace of the number on his neck and he pressed the button twelve, noticing that this building is up until floor forty-five. This is the only time he realized that he should have cut his hair a bit before applying for the position, he really looked like a barbarian on his reflection on the elevator.

When his Sparta reflection disappeared on the door, he was welcomed by a hall ending on a glass wall showing him a glimpse of another building in front of them. The hall also consists of rooms with a glass door on it, inside were men wearing suite and ties being interviewed by women wearing corporate dresses and clothing.

Now, he felt a clump of acidic bread come up his throat, he is under dressed for this.

He walked out of elevator ignoring the eyes prying on his informal clothing and then proceeded on a table to his right, where a pen was held upright by a small pen holder. He proceeded to write things on his paper forgetting the thoughts he have on his mind.

His hand was naturally gliding on the form but was stopped almost suddenly by a statement on the back of the form.

Have you ever been detained or imprisoned by a certain reason? If yes, please state what it is for.

He was torn between ticking the yes and no box. If he say no, what if the company would do a background check, he is screwed up, but if he says yes, he might not be accepted to the job.

A sound of heels clicking started getting louder as he decide which box should he tick, before saying, fuck it, on his head.