Room 218; Tuesday Afternoon.
That morning, yawning and futilely (it would seem) clutching a cup of tea from the coffee shop, Adah had gone and checked her mail, and, at first, it would have seemed that her traverse this time hadn't been like all her other, previous handwavey trips. Waiting for her there was an envelope, with the neatly printed address label of Emory University in the top left corner. She didn't think her heart succeeded to dislodge from her throat for about halfway of the limp back to the doors, halfway through, when she started to ruminate on the fact that the envelope...did seem a bit thinner, lighter than she would have expected. Thinner and lighter, reth gild naren niht, and that was never good for anything from a university, unless it was your bill.
Dislodged from her throat, Adah's heart then settled deep, deep in her stomach.
She didn't open it, though, until she was in her room, carefully using her teeth to help her tear the envelope apart, dropping it to the floor as she handled the letter inside. Folded. Now unfolded. Unread, now read, and her breath seemed to leave her a bit as her eyes passed at first toward the bottom, the signature of the familiar Dr. Remile, and then jumping toward the beginning of the letter:
"Dear Ms. Price,
We regret to inform you..."
Adah felt her head jerk for a second, swaying, pitching forward as though on a ship on stormy seas.
...cannot accept...
..review of your financial situation...
Financial situation. Financial situation. The pitching got worse, lightning starting to piece the sky where buckets of rain tossed the dark black waters. Financial situation. That was all it said. They had not accepted her for the intern program under the guise of her pitiful financial solution, which they couldn't have avoided for the regular term but, for this program, they could easily pull out, easily flaunt, as a cover up. Financial situation, something undeniable and unobjectionable, although she knew better. She knew their codes. They clung to that, because they could not outright refuse her based on her gender or disability. Not anymore. But they still had their ways.
Adah felt her knees weaken slightly; the pitching in her half-brain got worse and she felt something welling up inside of her that she didn't know how to control. She wanted to scream out in frustration. She had wanted nothing...nothing, save for her actual admittance into the college come fall...more than this internship. And she was being denied, because she was too poor, too disabled, too female. She wanted to just cry out in frustration, but she wasn't going to give the situation the satisfaction.
One quick, slightly jerking, surprisingly powerful swipe of her arm send a whole shelf of books crashing to the floor. Pride barely bounded out of the way of being crushed by Adah's medical dictionary and, a few seconds after she'd created the crashing to make up for the sound she wanted her throat to make, she soon joined the books, dropping like sack of rocks onto her weakened knees and staring in a daze at the floor.
[[ door and post are open, especially if you may have heard the sound from the usually otherwise quiet room. I might disappear in a bit for enjoying nice days and all that, just as a note, so a bit of sp might be expected ]]
Dislodged from her throat, Adah's heart then settled deep, deep in her stomach.
She didn't open it, though, until she was in her room, carefully using her teeth to help her tear the envelope apart, dropping it to the floor as she handled the letter inside. Folded. Now unfolded. Unread, now read, and her breath seemed to leave her a bit as her eyes passed at first toward the bottom, the signature of the familiar Dr. Remile, and then jumping toward the beginning of the letter:
"Dear Ms. Price,
We regret to inform you..."
Adah felt her head jerk for a second, swaying, pitching forward as though on a ship on stormy seas.
...cannot accept...
..review of your financial situation...
Financial situation. Financial situation. The pitching got worse, lightning starting to piece the sky where buckets of rain tossed the dark black waters. Financial situation. That was all it said. They had not accepted her for the intern program under the guise of her pitiful financial solution, which they couldn't have avoided for the regular term but, for this program, they could easily pull out, easily flaunt, as a cover up. Financial situation, something undeniable and unobjectionable, although she knew better. She knew their codes. They clung to that, because they could not outright refuse her based on her gender or disability. Not anymore. But they still had their ways.
Adah felt her knees weaken slightly; the pitching in her half-brain got worse and she felt something welling up inside of her that she didn't know how to control. She wanted to scream out in frustration. She had wanted nothing...nothing, save for her actual admittance into the college come fall...more than this internship. And she was being denied, because she was too poor, too disabled, too female. She wanted to just cry out in frustration, but she wasn't going to give the situation the satisfaction.
One quick, slightly jerking, surprisingly powerful swipe of her arm send a whole shelf of books crashing to the floor. Pride barely bounded out of the way of being crushed by Adah's medical dictionary and, a few seconds after she'd created the crashing to make up for the sound she wanted her throat to make, she soon joined the books, dropping like sack of rocks onto her weakened knees and staring in a daze at the floor.
[[ door and post are open, especially if you may have heard the sound from the usually otherwise quiet room. I might disappear in a bit for enjoying nice days and all that, just as a note, so a bit of sp might be expected ]]