She inspects every corner of the tattered gray envelope. Its story is full, this envelope, of a long journey and rough handling. It wears this journey with pride. The print is tightly handwritten and condescending; the stock heavy and formal.

She turns it over, brushing her fingers up to the seam, but stopping short of peeling the flap with her trim nails. Her fingers shake. Her cheeks flush and she looks up and down the hall.

Pushing the mailbox, she twists and removes the key. Swallow. Shaking hands grasp the envelope, again. Deep breath. Ripping paper.

Only three, maybe four sheets.

Forcing herself to concentrate, she reads, ”... would like to extend a formal offer for employment as a Junior Product Designer based on your submitted ideas…”

Tears obscure the remaining text, but she doesn’t care. All her work has finally paid off. She flips through the attached pages, finding her original concept drawings. The magnetic eye, the television paper… even the hand and gun.