The Corporate Pyramid Blues

The fluorescent lights hummed above Marcus as he sat in his cubicle on the 14th floor, staring at his computer screen. He felt like a zombie—alive but not living, moving through his days on autopilot. The corporate pyramid loomed above him, executives at the apex making decisions that trickled down through layers of management until they landed on his desk as spreadsheets and quarterly reports.

His lunch sat untouched beside his keyboard: a spinach salad with wilted greens that mirrored his own sense of decay. Sarah from accounting had brought it to him two hours ago, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. They'd been sleeping together for three months now, a secret arrangement born from late-night office escapades and mutual loneliness. Neither spoke about what it meant.

Thunder cracked outside, and Marcus watched lightning fork across the gray sky through his window. The storm matched the turbulence in his chest. Yesterday, Sarah had mentioned she might transfer to the Chicago branch. She'd said it casually while fixing her lipstick in the breakroom mirror, but Marcus had heard the question beneath her words: Would you follow me?

He stood up and walked to the window. Rain streaked the glass, distorting the city below. Water pooled on the sill, condensation from his own breath fogging the glass. He thought about the life he'd built here—safe, predictable, empty. The corporate ladder he'd been climbing for seven years suddenly looked less like a path to success and more like a prison.

His phone buzzed. Sarah: Coffee break? 5 minutes.

Marcus pressed his palm against the cold glass. The lightning flashed again, illuminating everything for one stark, brilliant moment before plunging the world back into gray. He thought about spinach, how it started crisp and fresh and slowly lost its vitality sitting on a desk, waiting for someone to remember it mattered.

He typed back: No. Let's talk instead.

Outside, the rain intensified. Marcus watched the water transform the city streets into rivers, carrying things away. He wasn't a zombie anymore. Whatever happened next—at least he'd feel it.