The Last Goldfish

Elias stood before the office tank, watching the last goldfish swim in endless circles. Its scales had dulled to the color of old pocket change, much like everything else in this building after the third round of layoffs.

"They're letting me go too," said Sarah, twenty-seven with hair the color of autumn leaves and the kind of bruised wisdom that usually takes decades to earn. She held a box containing three photos and a novelty coffee mug that read BEST BOSS EVER in fading letters.

Elias adjusted his fedora—a relic from when men wore hats and pensions were promises, not punchlines. "I'm sorry, Sarah."

"My mother has cancer," she continued, as if they were discussing the weather. "Stage four. I need the insurance."

The goldfish surfaced, gulping air.

"I have a bear tattooed on my shoulder," Elias said, the words escaping before he could swallow them. "Got it when I turned twenty. Thought it meant strength. Thought I'd be wild forever."

Sarah actually smiled. "My ex had a bear tattoo. He left me for someone who worked at Orange Theory."

"Irony's the only thing that's been consistent."

HR would be here in ten minutes. Elias thought of Loretta, waiting at home with her own diagnosis and the way she'd stopped dyeing her hair last month, letting the silver map the geography of her courage. He'd have to tell her about the severance package—or lack thereof—over dinner. Maybe they'd finally open that bottle of wine they'd been saving for a celebration that never seemed to arrive.

"You know what I keep thinking about?" Sarah asked, staring into the tank. "My childhood goldfish. My mom flushed it when I was at school. Told me it went to live in the ocean. I believed her for years."

Elias placed his hand on the glass. "Maybe we're all just swimming in different tanks, pretending there's an ocean out there."

The elevator dinged. HR had arrived.

"Take care of yourself, Elias."

"You too, kid."

As he walked toward his own execution, Elias touched the brim of his hat and wondered if the goldfish knew it was the last one left, or if it simply kept swimming, trusting that the next circle might finally lead somewhere new.