Picture perfect

Examination

"Trainee n•013."

"Yes?" I said as I step forward from the line of trainees that stood in front of the examiners.

He stands hostile, his clipboard in his hand and pen placed in the pocket of his perfect black suit.

Four simple cold white walls, the room seeming to be the worst fear for most trainees here.

The examination room.

I hate this room too, everytime I come here I feel the nervousness contort my guts. It feels like all the eyes that look at me are blaring holes through my body, like their figure is slowly closing in on me and it always terrifies me.

The fact that i'm only wearing loose boxers isn't helping either. It makes me feel exposed and weak infront of all the other male trainees.

I step on the scale, my eyes dropping to the numbers as the nervousness slowly eats me up.

65 kg.

My breath hitches, eyes slowly looking up to the examiner discretely - we aren't allowed to look at them in the eyes.

The middle aged man looks down at me from his taller height, his eyes looking at me disgustingly.

"That's right on the limit." He says through his teeth. "Carefull n•013, you might overstep."

His words are like bugs falling out of his lips crawling up my spine coldly and slowly tickling the thin skin of my face to reach my mouth.

I can't say anything, moving on to the measurements.

They criticise my height.

"You look ridiculous being this small." He scoffs, slightly patting my head in humiliation.

My measurements.

"Your arms are like chopsticks, do you expect fans to love you if you look like a stickman."

"Jesus you are a man or a skeleton? Do you ever follow the practice or dance?"

"It's saddening how frail you look though your weight is so high. I guess it really is just fat huh?" He spits.

His face is so close to mine I can feel his spit hitting my skin as he talks. I keep my head down the whole time, because I know I can't say anything.

Tears of frustration start to prickle at the corners of my eyes.

It feels like my body is so heavy under his strong gaze that my knees wobble and I almost fall to the cold floor.

"Are you crying?" He asked.

His voice is icy cold, dripping with venom.

His warm and clamy hands grab my shoulders strongly, making my body spin to face the other male trainees.

"See this everyone." He says loudly. "This is what we call a weakling."

I sniffle, my vision blurry with tears. I want to sob and cry out my frustration and despair.

The room is sickly quiet as I try to surpress my shaking chest.

My shoulders rise as the atmosphere seems to get tenser. It's like the walls are closing in on me and suffocating me.

"See weaklings don't survive in the industry, thus trainee n•013 is the perfect example of what you shouldn't be." He said as his hand stays on my shoulder, before slipping to my nape, fingers wrapping around the back of my neck and applying pressure making me flinch slightly.

"This company doesn't have enough money to waste on crybabies like n•013." He concludes, his voice low as he speaks in the crook of my neck.

I nod, sniffling one last time. He sighs and hits the back of my head with the side of his hand to dismiss me.