She woke up the next morning to the sunlight bleeding through the blinds over the window beside her bed. She tossed aside her bedsheets and hoisted herself off of the bed and onto the cold wood floor, the early fall air giving her a slight chill. Crumpled up balls of rejected and unfinished sketches littered the ground around her. She looked around the apartment. Eileen wasn’t around, at least not visibly. She sighed and tossed the paper balls one by one into the trash can under her desk, and hoped a good idea would find her at the studio. 

Her commute was short, but she hated having to take the train. Samsara’s trains were noisy and musty, and what she hated the most was how miserable everyone else around her looked. She found no comfort in knowing she wasn’t the only one just barely getting by, running on fumes every day. It was a loneliness shared by everyone and no one. 

She got off at the end of the line, adjusting the collar of her dark blue dress shirt as she stepped onto the platform and into the mid-morning heat. 

“Hey, sweetheart!” A saccharine male voice called out suddenly in the distance. 

She looked to where it came from and saw a group of young men leaning on the turnstiles in front of her. They were dressed in blue and gray suits, eyes hungry and digging into her like a miner into bedrock. “Looking good, hon!” one of them shouted at her. 

She felt her stomach turn and twist and kept her vision fixed on the cracks in the station floor. Another one of them whistled, and the rest chimed in one after the other. She picked up speed and nearly ran through a farther off turnstile out of the station, the loud screech of the medal rods turning, joining the disturbed chorus behind her. Outside she forced herself back into a normal pace and breathed deeply. She tasted metal as she swallowed. She hadn’t realized how hard she had bitten down on her bottom lip. 

Wellness Endeavors Design was just across the street, washed in the harsh morning sunlight. The bland, gray color and sharp, brutalist architecture blended in seamlessly with the rest of the buildings on the street, a drab blur that Melanie resisted getting consumed by every day. You would have never guessed from the outside that the studio, consisting of Melanie and twelve other designers/illustrators, churned out editorial art and website designs for wellness brands–mostly small mental health and psychology magazines–all across the country. 

The glass sliding doors opened into a sterile, white lobby with minimalist decor. Beige, leather cubes acted as both seating and tables organized in neat rows along either wall, with a polished, black reception desk in the middle. Melanie didn’t bother taking her ID card out of her pocket. It took less than the week she’d been there to figure out the building’s security was mostly for show. The receptionist took one unenthusiastic look at her before buzzing her in without a word. She made her way through another blindingly white hall and into an elevator, tapping the plastic button marked “3” and praying no one upstairs would talk to her. 

Her seat was in the far corner of the room at the end of a strung out computer table. She walked past several of her coworkers who were thankfully too engrossed in conversation to notice her, and dropped into her soft, cushioned office chair. A heavy sigh of relief escaped her as the monitor lit up with its generic, bubbly startup chime. She logged in and went straight to her emails, scrolling through a dozen scam advertisements for penis enlargement pills and a couple of messages from her local representatives, vying for her allegiance and a small donation, before coming across an inquiry from a client. She double clicked.

To: Melanie Waters

From: Genesis Investments

Sent: Wed, July 13, 2023 at 6:30 am

Subject: RE: rough drafts

Hey, it’s John again. I still haven’t received the rough drafts I requested yesterday. Please send ASAP. 

Thanks,

John Howard

Sales Department

She read the message twice and stared at it. She could have sworn she submitted them through the design team’s chatroom yesterday afternoon, right before she left for the day. Not only that, but the email should have gone to the art director, not her. Not a big deal, she thought. She’d just ask the art director to follow up with him later. Then the top sliver of an unread message just underneath that one caught her eye. 

To: Melanie Waters

From: Genesis Investments

Sent: Wed, July 13, 2023 at 7:00 am

Subject: RE: rough drafts 

Melanie, where the hell are my drafts? 

John Howard

Sales Department

She blinked. Another unread message peeked out from the bottom of the window.

To: Melanie Waters

From: Genesis Investments

Sent: Wed, July 13, 2023 at 7:15 am

Subject: RE: rough drafts

Where the fuck are my drafts.

John Howard

Sales Department

She blinked again and scrolled down without looking. 

To: Melanie Waters

From: Genesis Investments

Sent: Wed, July 13, 2023 at 7:20 am

Subject: RE: rough drafts

Answer me, Melanie. Give me my fucking drafts.

Her chest burned and twisted as she scrolled down again.

Where are my drafts.

And again.

GIVE ME MY FUCKING DRAFTS

And again.

ANSWER YOUR FUCKING MESSAGES YOU STUPID BITCH

“Hey, Melanie–”

“Christ!” She flew back in her chair, nearly running over one of her coworker's feet. 

“Whoa, you okay?” the young man asked her.

She caught herself and breathed. “Yeah.. Yeah no, I’m fine.. What’s up?”

“Uh, paychecks are in..” he replied, holding an envelope out in front of her, “Didn’t know if you needed yours in paper or not..” 

“Oh, yeah.. Thanks..” 

She took the envelope and stuffed it in a side pocket on her backpack. Her coworker looked over to her monitor. “Jesus, a lot of spam today, huh?” 

She turned back to the screen and found her inbox open to a low resolution image of a suburb, a blurb of typos and poor grammar beneath it urging her to take advantage of a special affordable home loan before time ran out. “Yeah.. Lots of spam..” she replied, scrolling up. 

“Godspeed,” her coworker nodded and walked away.

She looked the inbox up and down and found nothing but junk and other, normal messages she had already replied to. “Fuck..” she groaned and rubbed her face with both hands.

The setting sun marked the end of Melanie’s shift, staining the office a deep orange. She rubbed her eyes and sighed. She wasn’t happy with how the project was turning out. Something about the palette was off. Or maybe something about her.

The station was empty when she got there. She always missed the rush going home. One of the few perks of her job. She watched the aged, cracked streets pass by her–the facades of boarding schools, street vendors of various ethnic backgrounds, and tiny apartment buildings and houses with for sale signs–all swimming together in a pink haze. The blurry images followed her on the short walk back to the apartment, along with the dying heat of the evening. She crossed the street to a heavily cracked sidewalk and turned into the narrow side street where her apartment was, but as she hit the final stretch home she was stopped in her tracks by a sudden, putrid smell. She covered her mouth and nose and tried not to vomit. It was a mix of rot and smoke and mold, and it was strong. She turned slowly to her right where it was coming from. 

Across the street flames were bursting out of a dumpster in front of a small general store, and in the flames she saw chunks of meat pouring out of tin cans and blackening into an ash heap. Their labels were barely legible, badly warped by the fire, but she could make out the different categories of ham, ground beef, and chicken folding into deformed scraps of metal. A speck of red caught her eye just above the dumpster, the bottom edges of large letters scrawled in marker on cardboard signs plastered over the storefront. 

WAKE UP

LAND OF THE FREE

GOD IS KING

She turned away and fixed her gaze straight ahead, down to her apartment and started walking as fast as she could, trying to ignore the loud crackling behind her.

She slammed the apartment door behind her and breathed a heavy sigh. The pounding of her heart softened into a dull thumping as her mind slowly began to collect itself. I’m just tired. I’ve just been running on four hours of sleep for a week and I’m finally cracking. It must have been a homeless vet who set the dumpster on fire. They were having an episode. I’m having an episode. Every explanation she thought of was less convincing to her than that last. I’m just tired, she insisted to herself.  

She pulled a pitcher of water out from the barren landscape of her fridge and poured herself a glass. “Welcome home.” Eileen greeted her timidly, sitting at the breakfast table across from her. 

“Thanks..” Melanie answered, slumping into a chair.

“Rough day..?”

Melanie tilted her glass back and swallowed. She closed her eyes and thought. “Yeah..” She sighed and set the glass down in front of her. She looked at Eileen, an expression of worry on her face as an awkward silence settled between them. She looked like she wanted to say something, but couldn’t quite find the words. “Uh.. Sorry, it’s nothing you need to worry about,” Melanie said, straightening her posture.

“No, no.. I’m sorry..” Eileen waved her off. “I know there’s nothing I can really do to help anyway.. Obviously..” 

“It’s okay. I appreciate the thought.” Melanie managed a weak, but sincere smile and leaned forward on the table. Eileen smiled back shyly, brushing aside a stray hair. “So, um.. While you were gone I remembered some things..” she said.

“Yeah?” 

Eileen nodded, and Melanie noticed her smile fading ever so slightly. “Bad things..?” she asked gently.

“Not all of them..” Eileen answered, “It’s better if I show you.”