David slumped in his chair as charts flickered across the screen—just more yield curves and red-line warnings. The AC hummed, lulling him toward sleep. His eyes dropped to the little pink string doll dangling from his backpack. He drifted.
Then—flames.
Behind his eyes, fire climbed. A woman screamed, her voice clawing through smoke. She was burning. David tried to reach out, but he couldn’t move.
The meeting droned on about yield and limiters, accented by charts and graphs. The engineers kept talking—unaware of the nightmare flickering behind his half-lidded gaze.
A sudden jab to his side broke the reverie. Debbie’s face appeared beside his, her smile tinged with mischief. “Sorry, David,” she whispered, “but ya were noddin’ off.”
He managed a weak grin, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, cheeks flushed with embarrassment.
David’s shoulders ached, eyes heavy—not just from the dream. His life had blurred into a haze of meetings and fake urgency, spreadsheets no one read, discussions about signal degradation that didn’t change a thing. That left him wondering if he was losing himself in the mundane.
The weekend was coming. The thought of breaking free lit something in him—hope, maybe—he'd take what he can get.
As the discussion shifted to troubleshooting the production line glitches, David’s heart sank. The errors weren’t just technical—they were a constant reminder of the system’s decay and his own impotence within it…
The room got warmer. The stark flicker of angry firelight twisted the mundane blue-gray wall into something terrifying yet satisfying. Like there was more beyond the flames if he just looked a little harder…
When it came time to speak, David hesitated. Then his voice, uncertain at first, found its footing. “I think we need a different approach.” His blue eyes flicked with determination.
The room quieted. Faces turned. David could hear the sound of disembodied flames crackling just above the drone of the air handlers.
He blinked hard. The flames faded—but not the smell, not the eyes.
From nowhere, a raven cawed—soft, distant, impossible.
The caw echoed in his skull. A chill passed through him—then it was gone. He forced himself to speak.
“We’ve tried everything up on the board—some of it twice. We’re missing something. I think we should bring in a vendor. They’ll be back from training next week. I can set up a meeting, bring him in for a fresh perspective.”
The lead engineer folded his arms, face unreadable. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Okay, David. Maybe you’re right. Let’s take a break, regroup, and see if we can shake loose some new ideas.”
Relief crept in, tempered by doubt. It was a small win—but one he needed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the charred woman, watching. He shuddered.
As the break chime sounded, the engineers rose like clockwork, moving through their preprogrammed stretches with robotic precision—arms lifting and rotating in a half-hearted mimicry of wellness. David watched them for a moment, then shook his head, unsure whether to laugh or sigh.
Debbie was already halfway to the door, her bag slung over one shoulder.
He stuffed his laptop into his backpack and quickened his pace, flashing a lopsided grin as he caught up to her.
“Sorry I drifted off. Last night was rough.”
She pushed the door open, and they stepped out into the pale-lit hallway, where the hum of fluorescent lights replaced the mechanical rhythm of the conference room.
She gave him a sympathetic look, one brow cocked like she already knew the answer. “Lemme guess—taco regrets or nightmares?”
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“I had the craziest dream,” he whispered. “Woke up screaming. The AC was blasting, but I was still drenched. Could’ve sworn it was real.”
She tipped her head slightly, eyes still sweeping the hallway. Curiosity flickered across her face. “What happened?”
He shivered. “A woman was being burned at the stake. She was screaming, but I couldn’t stop it. I just—watched."
He shook his head. "Maybe it’s because today is Friday and we have a weekend in front of us. Coming back to work always feels like I'm losing a part of myself. Have you ever felt like that?”
"I dunno, David. I know your weekends carry pieces of you that don’t fit in this office. I don’t always get it—but I know they’re real."
David looked at the pink doll on his bag. Handmade. It was a quiet reminder that there was more than this life.
He grimaced, but he couldn’t blame her. She didn’t mean it wrong. How could she possibly understand what he was going through?
They reached the cafeteria.
Debbie glanced around, then leaned in. “I heard something today.”
David tensed. “What?”
“Some say it’s the falling stock value. Others say it’s the new CEO's fault. The board is not happy and they want change.”
His stomach dropped. Of course it was worse. “Uh oh. What’ve you heard?”
The sound of crackling flames rose up in the back of his mind. David raked a hand through his hair—grey strands catching in his fingers. It didn’t help.
He shuddered at the thought. Losing this job—this routine that anchored his dual life—was terrifying. “Anything solid?”
She shook her head. “Nothin', just talk. But it’s gettin' louder.”
“The execs love rebranding layoffs as ‘restructuring,’” he muttered. “Like a new label makes it sting less.”
Debbie nodded grimly. “Last time they ‘downsized,’ it was a freakin’ train wreck—we couldn’t even run full shifts.”
It was dull work, sure, but it paid for the weekends. “I wonder if I'll get the boot…” David muttered.
She looked around again, her voice dropping low. “You might wanna start lookin’. A few departments are short-staffed. Ours is fat, so they'll be comin' for us first.”
The room spun. Thoughts crashed into each other. He grabbed a nearby table to steady himself. A transfer wasn’t freedom—it was the same old doldrum in a different suit. But it paid the bills.
The day dragged. Conversations carried tight undertones. Emails came laced with cautious phrasing. From a nearby cubicle, David overheard a technician talking quietly with his wife—about backup plans in case of layoffs.
Everyone knew—something was coming.
Rodger passed by—newly minted management, all smug smiles and too-sharp shoes. He extended a hand. David shook it out of habit. A sudden zap snapped between them—static, probably, but it made David flinch.
Rodger just grinned. “Have a good weekend, David.” The smirk was wide enough to gloat.
The scent of ozone lingered on David’s fingers. He rubbed them together, frowning. Not static. Something else. Like storm air—or memory.
He watched Rodger go, jaw tight. He remembered how Rodger had taken Debbie’s project and claimed credit—slick and shameless. It still made his stomach turn.
Debbie had told him to aim higher. But moments like this reminded him why he hadn’t.
“David,” Debbie said, appearing at his desk, face pale. “We need to talk.”
He straightened. “Yeah?”
“I talked to a manager friend. It’s worse than I thought. The announcement’s coming next week.”
He swallowed hard. “How bad?”
“Bad. Remember four years ago?”
He did. Too well. “Yeah. We barely survived.”
“Those were hard times,” she admitted, voice shaking.
David looked away, blinking out the burn. A child’s drawing was tacked to the cubicle wall—crayon sun, lopsided house, the words "I love you Daddy."
“I need to move to another department,” he said, mustering resolve. “Even if it’s just the same things as here.”
Her lips curved into a tired smile, but her eyes lingered elsewhere, unfocused. “I’ll help. My contacts are worried too, but maybe someone knows somethin’.”
He smiled, grateful. “Thank you. I hope you land safe too.”
She let out a brittle laugh that curled into something more like a snarl.
Rolling her eyes, she muttered. “Rodger got his shiny new title. Maybe that means no more knives in my back—least I hope so."
David chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll see them coming next time—and cover your back.”
“I know you will.” She glanced down the hall. “Last meeting of the day. Talk soon.”
He waved as she vanished into the maze of cubicles.
Long shadows stretched across the floor. David sat staring at his screen, its contents a multicolored blur. The drone of the office dulled everything but the quiet thud of his pulse. What would he do if he lost his job? The house had a mortgage. His kids—this summer. A layoff could ruin it all.
He pounded the keys, trying to stay focused. The smell of burning hair clung to his nose.
When he looked up from his charts, he saw the clock read six o’clock.
Time to go. He packed his bag, the safe weight of routine pressing against his spine.
Safe meant staying in place, even when it wore him down.
Next week would force the choice.
He found Debbie by the lobby doors. She smiled, shoulders lighter.
“Have a wicked good weekend, David.”
She gave him a sly grin. “Say hi to Raven for me, will ya?”
He chuckled. “I will. You have a good weekend too. Say hi to Fred and the boys.”
It always jarred him, hearing it out loud. She said it without judgment, but it still felt like being caught between two lives.
They parted across the sun-blasted parking lot, two shadows swallowed by the Arizona heat.
