I applied for the wrong job.

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I got up that morning to go for a walk, keeping my eyes open for any job requests. The town had only a few organizations with no job vacancies, but I still needed a new job. My current job at that time was only able to cover my house rent, food, and some other basic necessities, but it wasn't enough to help my little cousins, who had lost their parents. I tried contacting other family members who could be of help, but they never gave any positive response. They all turned their backs, leaving me with two little kids who couldn't fend for themselves.

A few months went by, and I had spent seventy percent of my life savings. "If things keep going on this way, we would end up on the streets begging," I thought deeply to myself. Soon, I decided to search for a better job during the weekend. I searched around but couldn't find any better-paying jobs. A few days later, I met a man on the bus who was looking for someone to work for him during weekends, just as I overheard during his conversation on the phone.

I thought that would be nice since I was always free during the weekend, so I spoke to him. He said it was an easy job and told me the pay per night, which was equivalent to my two months' salary. On hearing that, I was happy, so I applied for the job. I didn't remember to ask about the nature of the job, but I was so excited to start working during the weekend.

On that weekend night, I went to begin my work after signing some papers. My job was to drive a van to a black market near the city borders, which I knew to be a hideout for crimes. My cousins' parents were also killed in that place. "Damn! I applied for the wrong job," I said. I told him I couldn't go, but his bodyguards brought out a gun and threatened me with it. I had no choice but to deliver the goods, which I knew nothing about, whether they were illegal or legal.

I was glad I made it back alive from that devil's lair. I got my pay and vowed never to accept offers without knowing deeply what they were about. When I got home, I praised God with the two children. I also got a call that evening from an unknown number, which I didn't want to pick up at first out of fear. It was one of grandma's cousins, who knew about my aunt and uncle's death. He asked about the two kids and promised to take care of them, which he did. I felt bad for not being patient enough, but nevertheless, I was very happy.

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