K.J. Gillenwater continues to write fiction from her retirement villa in the mountains of New Mexico. After a successful brain transplant and recuperation time at a moon Recovery Facility known for its remarkable outcomes in a gravity-free environment, K.J. expects her career to last another 40 years. Even after many best sellers, K.J. still sees herself as an amateur who dabbles in fiction not because she has to, but because she wants to. K.J. can be found at @KGillenwater on Wattpad.

The large iron gates squeaked open. The five of us slid thought the narrow opening. Behind us, our families hugged each other in excitement. Mothers clutched children, wives waved and smiled with lipsticked mouths, husbands grimaced with embarrassment at all the hype.

"Forward, winners," a deep masculine voice in the style of Michael Buffer, the famous boxing announcer (let's get ready to rum-ble!), shouted from some unknown place. His words echoed through the empty courtyard that separated the gate from the big gray building in front of us.

Winner. Yes, I was a winner. Hard to believe.

I'd managed to get this ticket through good, old-fashioned hard work and determination. Rumors swirled around the other winners: pay-offs and graft, murky contracts and suspect sales practices. Although I hated to think poorly of my fellow salesmen, some of their quarterly numbers had been hard to believe.

I clutched the shiny black ticket in my sweaty palm.

A door opened up in the huge building towering in front of us. It appeared small in the vast wall that rose three or four stories high. No windows. Just industrial cinderblock stacked up and up. The open door reminded me of a worker's entrance you'd find in an alley somewhere in the city, at the back of a restaurant, by the dumpsters and the rats and the filth.

I hung back and let the other four move ahead first. My gut clenched. I should be excited, but instead, I was nervous as hell. I'd dreamed of this moment, of achieving this reward, and now I didn't know if I wanted it.

How stupid. Of course you want it. Everybody wants this chance to see the inside of the mysterious factory and compete for the ultimate prize: Salesman of the Year.

The award came with a sizable bonus, travel perqs and a corporate gig. Meaning the daily grind of meeting sales quotas and constant travel would be over. The winner would have it made.

I scanned the small group who would be my companions for the day: a blonde woman in very high heeled red shoes and a tight pencil skirt, a diminutive fellow in a golf cap and lemon yellow sweater with a pink oxford cloth shirt underneath, an older man with a bald head and a navy suit, and a middle aged woman in glasses and mom jeans.

They would also be my competition.

"Forward, please." The voice boomed and echoed.

I felt an urge to slink away, back out the iron gate and into a taxi. Drive away and head back to the airport. Let these other four enjoy the battle. They all looked more serious than I. Probably because they'd been at it longer than I have. I was a neophyte to sales. I didn't deserve this.

And they knew it.

The blonde had eyed me several times when I'd reached the iron gates, giving me the once over. Judging my youth and tenure with the organization as a weakness. The curl of her lip had been enough to convince me what I imagined was true.

The bald man had been kinder. He'd tugged at my sleeve to get me up front before the gates opened. He'd seen my ticket. Knew I was one of them. Pulled me past the throng of family members who'd shown up for support. Their loved one had a chance at greatness. At taking a huge leap in their lives. And if the leap was taken, they'd get to take it, too. The summers in France. The winters in Vail. All the advantages that came with a corporate job title and a major promotion. They could sense it. The women and children trembled at the thought. The husbands, wishing they could have provided better for their high-powered wives, sniffed indifferently and pretended they didn't care. But they did.

I moved away from Blondie, Golf Cap, and Glasses. Baldy would be my friend today. He'd shown me at least a bit of kindness and inclusion this morning at the gate. I took a step or two in his direction, making sure to keep a safe, socially acceptable distance.

"Through the door, please. We haven't much time." The voice urged us along.

My feet took steps, but I don't remember wanting them to do so. It was as if I were in a trance. The whole ceremony of it all. The imposing iron gates, fifteen feet high, with a huge Z.C. on the front of them in a complex script that very few people in my generation even recognized anymore. We were all keyboard and emojis these days. Not handwritten script and ink pens. But that is what the Z.C. on the gate looked like. Two letters swished onto the gate with a giant pen filled with iron ink. As if a giant had stood outside the gates and leaned down to write those two letters.

I shivered.

The open door beckoned me. Dark. Black within. Impossible to see what awaited us inside. Secrets. So many secrets. And only the five of us were allowed to see.