End of the Line

By Embe Charpentier

Grace’s finger traced the word on screen.

TERMINATED

She over-pronounced each syllable. The word crashed to the floor. The hook of the ‘t’ chipped the tile. The ‘e’ cracked the grout. The remaining letters tumbled into the fracture.

“The boss didn’t even tell me in person.” The clock’s night beacon blinked 11:15.

In her unkempt kitchen, she knelt beside the sink. Ants formed a living chain of perfect order. Scouts explored on. Workers followed trails through the gap. Yet, back in the hive, the queen risked nothing.

For those on the front line, life balanced on the pinhole of a hilltop.