The Weight of Small Things

Martha peeled the orange at her desk, the citrus scent cutting through the sterile office air. It was 2 AM and she was still here, again. The fluorescent lights hummed overhead like a dying insect. Her husband hadn't texted back in six hours.

On her desk sat a bottle of vitamin D supplements—her doctor said she was deficient, said it might explain the fatigue, the brain fog, the way she woke up feeling like she'd already lived through the day. She dry-swallowed one, the pill scraping her throat.

Her iPhone lit up. Not him. A push notification about a sale on kitchen appliances. Martha stared at the screen until it went dark, catching her own reflection—hollow eyes, skin that looked perpetually surprised by its own aging.

In the corner of her cubicle, her office goldfish swam in endless circles. She'd won him at a company picnic three years ago, a ridiculous prize for a forty-two-year-old woman. But she'd kept him. He swam the same path, over and over, never questioning. Never wondering if there was more to life than this glass box and the artificial plant that had long since dissolved into green plastic confetti.

"At least you don't have to pretend you're happy," she whispered to the fish. It turned sharply, startled by her voice.

The orange segments were perfect, each one a tiny sunset. She ate them slowly, letting the juice run down her fingers, sticky and sweet. This was the most alive she'd felt all week.

Her phone buzzed again. A text from him: 'staying at office tonight. big project.'

Martha looked at the fish, at the orange peels curling like dead petals on her desk, at the vitamin bottle promising to fix what wasn't broken but simply exhausted. She typed a response—'ok'—and stared at the word until it blurred. Then she deleted it. She deleted his unread messages from yesterday. From the day before.

The fish swam toward the glass, his mouth opening and closing in silent petition. Martha pressed her finger to the outside of the bowl. He followed it, the closest thing to touch she'd experienced in months.

"You're not trapped," she told him, but she wasn't sure which of them she was trying to convince.