Running from the Quiet

Mara was running when the sky finally broke open, lightning cracking the horizon in half — the same way Dave had ended things three nights ago over lukewarm Thai takeout and too much wine. "It's not you," he'd said, and she'd almost laughed at the cliché. "It's that I don't know who I am anymore."

Now her shoes slapped against wet pavement, each step an accusation. She'd given him everything, including that ridiculous sphinx cat — wrinkled, pink, perpetually offended-looking — that his mother had cooed over at Christmas. Bastet. That was the cat's name. The cat was still in their apartment. Probably sitting on Dave's favorite chair, judging his solo existence.

The rain intensified, plastering her hair to her skull. She slowed to a walk, chest heaving, and found herself at the pet store where they'd bought their first anniversary goldfish. The sign flickered in the storm: AQUARIUMS & POND SUPPLIES.

Inside, fluorescent lights hummed. Rows of glass tanks lined the walls, and there it was — a single goldfish, orange and iridescent, swimming in endless circles. They'd had three. The first had died within a week. The second had jumped from its bowl while they were at work. The third had lasted six months before Dave forgot to feed it during his business trip to Chicago.

"Five-second memory," the clerk had told them cheerfully, as if that made the repeated deaths less tragic. As if forgetting was a blessing.

Mara pressed her forehead against cool glass. Maybe that was the problem. Maybe they were all just goldfish, forgetting and repeating, the same mistakes swimming in circles. Her phone buzzed in her pocket — probably Dave, probably wanting to retrieve something else from the apartment. His toothbrush. His plants. His life.

Outside, lightning struck again, illuminating the street. She could go back, keep running until her lungs burned and the endorphins kicked in and she forgot, briefly, that her chest felt hollowed out. Or she could stand here, in this overly bright pet store, and finally admit that some riddles don't have answers.

The goldfish swam to the front of its tank, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. Waiting for food that might never come.

Mara turned away from the glass and stepped back into the storm.