by Rae White

The air here is hard and mottled like lotus seedpods. My body is pockmarked and frigid.

Each day I’m finding it increasingly difficult to focus. I’m sliding, hardly blinking, mesmerised by the honeycombed revulsion surrounding me. Until I find a clear nook. It only takes one, a tiny seedless space, and I can slip into the office, walk confidently through the security doors and past the lunchroom.

I check my email daily. Or like all good employees, I try to. As my old manager Simon used to say, it’s the dedication that counts. Even if you’re office-bound until late in the evening, at least it looks like you’re doing something.

As I approach my desk I glimpse my old friend: the stained ring from my coffee mug that no one’s bothered to clean off. I make a giggle-tsk noise and Miriam quickly turns her head. She stares at me briefly…