The Last Goldfish at the Office

Elena stood in the center of her cubicle, the fluorescent lights humming overhead like a dying insect. It was her last day at Gibson & Sterling after twelve years, and her desk looked strangely naked with the personal items packed away.

"You forgot this," said Marcus from the neighboring cube, holding up her favorite fedora, the one she'd worn to every interview since graduating. The hat was crushed on one side where she'd sat on it during her commute three years ago.

She took it, running her thumb over the crushed rim. "Thanks. You'd think after all these layoffs, I'd be better at this."

Marcus shrugged, not meeting her eyes. His goldfish — a Beta he kept in a tiny bowl on his filing cabinet — swam in endless circles, its orange scales catching the light. The fish had outlasted three rounds of cuts.

"What happens to him?" Elena asked, nodding at the fish.

"I don't know. My wife says he's a metaphor for something. Persistence? Blind hope?" Marcus finally looked at her. "You have somewhere to go?"

"Temp agency. They think they can place me by month's end." She tucked the hat under her arm. "I'll be forty in November. How did this become my life?"

The elevator dinged down the hall. More people leaving today — the third wave since the merger. Elena watched the security guard coil the thick ethernet cable from the vacant cubicles like a snake eating its own tail.

"You know what's funny?" Marcus said, feeding a flake of food to his fish. "I envied you. That hat, that confidence. I thought you had it figured out."

Elena laughed, bitter and sharp. "I was wearing a hat, Marcus. I wasn't wearing armor."

Her phone buzzed — her mother, probably calling to ask about retirement plans or whether she'd heard back about the position at that nonprofit. The cable connecting her to this life, this version of herself, had been cut. She should feel free. Instead, she felt like the goldfish — swimming in circles, waiting for someone to remember she was still there.

She put on the crushed fedora. It didn't fit the same way anymore.

"Good luck, Marcus," she said, and meant it.

"Yeah. You too, Elena. The fish and I... we're rooting for you."

She walked toward the elevator, the heels she'd worn for years clicking against the floor. Somewhere, her actual life was waiting. She hoped she'd recognize it when she found it.