The Aquarium of Empty Offices

Marcus stood before the glass tank on the 42nd floor, watching the goldfish navigate its artificial kingdom with terrifying grace. Three years of corporate mergers had taught him that survival required the same stillness, the same patience for currents you couldn't control.

The office goldfish—some intern had named him Gordon, though the intern was long gone—circled his plastic castle with profound indifference. Marcus envied him. The fish wouldn't be present at tomorrow's board meeting where Katherine would present the restructuring plan that would eliminate his department. Katherine, with her predatory efficiency and perfectly tailored suits, who'd been sleeping with the CEO since December. Everyone knew. Nobody said anything.

He returned to his desk to find the email: your position is being eliminated. Effective immediately. Corporate severance package attached. The bullshit flowed deeper every quarter, but this was pure poetry— Katherine would be liquidating the very team she'd claimed was essential six months ago.

The cat waited by the door when Marcus unlocked his apartment at 7 PM. Sarah had moved out three weeks ago, taking everything except the furniture and this Siamese with its judgmental blue eyes. "You always liked him better anyway," she'd said, which wasn't true. Marcus had just been better at the things required—feeding, cleaning litter, pretending not to notice the slow accumulation of dirty dishes, unread mail, unwritten apologies.

The cat wound around his legs, purring desperately, and Marcus realized he should feel something—anger, fear, shame. Instead he felt profoundly, dangerously calm. He poured himself a drink and watched the goldfish on his phone—office security feed still worked, thank you, incompetent IT department.

Gordon swam through his illuminated rectangle of water, midnight in the city of glass. Katherine's office lights burned three floors above. Somewhere in this building, someone was lying to someone else, falling in love, stealing something valuable, pretending tomorrow would be different. The goldfish would forget everything in three seconds, but Marcus suspected humans just learned to pretend they had. He took his drink to the window and watched the city burn with money, memory, forgetting. Somewhere a clock ticked. Somewhere, Katherine and the CEO would eventually destroy each other. Somewhere, Sarah might already be sleeping with someone who knew how to want the right things.

Marcus set down the glass. The cat jumped onto the windowsill beside him, and they watched the city together, two survivors in the aquarium of empty offices, swimming through the dark with terrible, practiced grace.