I stand burning my hands in the bathroom sink of the property management office where I’m employed. I clench and unclench my fingers, begging this small act of harm to heal me. In the mirror, my face is red, wet, and ugly. Steam rises between me and my reflection and I shake my head at the swollen eyes, the scrunched face. It disgusts me. That the world still turns, that the corporate clack clack clack of keyboards and calculators drones endlessly, and that the living are expected to continue despite the wounds eating us alive. I make the water hotter.
Sarah Parris is a teacher, writer, gamer, and escapee of the corporate grind. She lives in Missouri with her wife and three cats.