There was a time in his life when he was all that he imagined.
A time when he worked for a multi-national company. A time when he was stationed in Paradise, living in a millionaire’s mansion. A time when he could do and be and experience, floating in the rarefied atmosphere of the upper class.
There was time when he had it all, the great job, the wife and child, social involvements, friendships; he thought he would be here forever.
He thought the way he immersed in his job, how he integrated into Paradise society, he would live here forever. But Isaac Bloom’s forever was six years.
His contract wasn’t renewed. He couldn’t find another job in Paradise. He was shipped back home.
Although he had dreams of returning to Paradise, even becoming a citizen, that didn’t happen.
Nothing happened, as if he’d been a torn bag of flour, spilling his life on the floor until most of it was gone, just leaving a dust.
Slowly, a hole in a bag of flour, his life poured out until all he had was an empty bag.