Dead End Office Pool

The fluorescent lights hummed overhead as Richard stood by the office pool table, watching the cable news channel silently on the breakroom television. Three years since his divorce, and he still felt like a zombie moving through his days — automatic, hollow, barely present.

He'd been running from himself since Sarah left, or so his therapist claimed. But Richard knew the truth: he'd stopped running toward anything a long time ago. The workplace death pool had his name on it this quarter. Most colleagues predicted a heart attack by Friday. The optimists gave him until the end of the month.

"You know," said Elena, the new marketing director, leaning against the doorway with her dog-eared copy of some self-help business book. "My ex used to say the same thing about feeling dead inside. Then I caught him embezzling. Turns out guilt mimics depression."

Richard snorted, surprised into something resembling amusement. "I'm not embezzling. Just... existing."

"Existing with cable TV on your lunch break while everyone bets on your demise." She crossed the room, her presence unexpectedly vibrant. "That's a bold choice."

Something in him shifted — not dramatically, not permanently, but enough. "Want to learn to play pool instead?"

Elena set down her book. "Terrible idea. I have a meeting in twenty minutes."

"I have a reputation to ruin."

She smiled, and for the first time in years, Richard felt something stir in his chest. Not hope exactly — he was too pragmatic for that — but possibility. The cable news continued droning about some crisis somewhere, but he barely heard it.

"Deal," she said. "But you're buying the coffee afterward."

"Alive people usually do."

"Then let's make it official." She racked the balls, her movements precise and deliberate. "First to sink the eight ball picks the topic. Work, exes, or why we're both eating lunch alone on a Tuesday."

Richard chalked his cue, feeling something like his old self return. "You're on. But fair warning — I talk a lot when I'm winning."

Elena's grin was genuine. "I've been told I'm a sore loser. This should be interesting."

As he lined up his shot, Richard realized something: maybe he wasn't dead after all. Maybe he'd just been waiting for someone who knew how to wake up the living.