DREAMER ↝ Ravi Chakrabarti

↳ CHAPTER ONE

        

          REJECTION AND DISAPPOINTMENT were no strangers to Freja Barrett — they were practically in the job description, or at the very least, undoubtedly in the cards for someone to call quits on a future career only to immerse herself in a frowned-upon topic without any peers. She supposed that the scoffs and stares she had earned over the years of trying to spread awareness when it came to all things supernatural had only hardened her confidence, prepared her for the worst outcome but always motivated to work towards the best, but the experience didn't do much in lessening the bitterness of the blows. Sure, whenever Freja got knocked down, she gradually climbed back up but it didn't mean she was happy to do it.

          "Oh, come on!" the Barrett complained with a groan, her kind eyes losing some of their naive warmth as she stalked behind the publisher of the alt-weekly with her laptop huddled up in her arms. "Last month, you published a story about an underground cult preying on children", Freja reminded sharply, even if the despair in her tone was bleeding through evidently, "I'd say this is right in your ballpark!" As if to prove a point, her hand gestured between the office she had invited herself into, and the screen of her laptop where large letters educating about zombies played as an introduction to her investigative piece — one of many, but not the first one to be rejected by all the newspapers in the city.

          "I've been reading your blog, Barrett", the balding man in front of her finally sighed out, face completely devoid of amusement as he made a curt turn on his heel and startled Freja with the gloomy glare. "You have no proof of any of this. Once you give me one good reason to believe that zombies exist, I'll eat my word and write you a check. Until then, you don't work here nor do I have time for you", he finalized, a stern finger pointed at her chest before he spun back around and continued his determined stomping through the bullpen and towards his private office with his fading, round figure impossible to resist sticking a tongue at.

          Blowing her hair away from her face in exasperation, Freja shut her sticker-littered laptop and gave the people around her a sheepish look — no doubt, even with all the typing throughout the room, their argument had been easily heard and the curious gazes aimed at her nearly made her visibly shrink. With a deep inhale, she kissed any hopes of a paycheck goodbye and grumpily shoved the laptop into her bag before slinging it over her shoulder and heading outdoors with a lack of interest in being the center of attention any longer. For as long as she could remember, she had simply wanted to help people, gain different kinds of looks, collect appreciation, but there was no abundance of people who would have taken her seriously. Her family tried to support her, both emotionally and financially, but it was occasions like these that really drove in the image of being merely a burden to everyone around her.

          The cool air outside encouraged Freja to tug on the lapels of her jean jacket as she pushed the entrance of the office open and stepped into the street with her earbuds already plugged in. The bagel stand deliberately placed in her line of sight tempted her, but with the promise of meeting her best friend, Matilda Dean, for lunch knocking at the back of her head, she forced herself to strut past and towards the police precinct, silently hoping that food and good company would distract her from yet another failure. She was living on the very verge of her savings — for a reason she was yet to solve, something had shifted within the people of Seattle a couple of months ago and her articles had attracted more attention, but excluding the few, scattered features on cooky magazines, her research wasn't exactly selling. And to be rejected by the alt-weekly, now that shed off any extra pride.