Corporate Ascent

The conference room smelled of stale coffee and desperation. Sarah watched Marcus across the mahogany table, his eyes glazed over in that familiar zombie state—the one that came after three hours of discussing synergy and pyramid schemes for corporate advancement.

"You okay?" she whispered, sliding him a clementine from the complimentary fruit bowl. His favorite.

Marcus started, then offered a weak smile. "Just thinking about Dave's presentation. He actually suggested we restructure the department like a pyramid. Again."

"Your favorite friend,"

she teased, using the childhood nickname they'd given their pretentious supervisor back when things were simpler, when Friday drinks meant venting about work instead of silently contemplating existence.

The orange segments burst between her teeth as she studied Marcus—really studied him. The fluorescent lights caught the gold flecks in his brown eyes, reminding her of her childhood goldfish, the one that had outlived all expectations by swimming in endless, meaningless circles.

That's when she realized: they were doing the same thing.

"Marcus," she said, her voice barely audible over the CEO's droning. "What if we just... left?"

He froze. The corporate pyramid shimmered outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, all glass and ambition in the sunset light.

"Left what?"

"Everything. This life. This endless swimming upstream."

For a moment, the old Marcus surfaced—the one who'd once talked about opening that bookstore by the sea. But then his phone buzzed with a notification from the company messaging app, and the zombie returned.

"Maybe after the quarterly review," he said.

Sarah popped another orange segment in her mouth. The sweetness couldn't mask the bitterness of understanding: some people would rather be undead in the pyramid than alive in the unknown.