Fell

The cup fell from the table. It crashed onto the floor and made a high-pitched yelp. The scattering of shattered glass across a wood floor. Emma's heart jumped, startled from the sound.

"Jesus," she said as she looked at the pieces of the glass.

The cup had been empty, thankfully. It had fallen next to a power strip beside her desk. The water would have fried her computer, or her new lamp, the old alarm clock. It was 2:17. She must have fallen asleep and knocked the glass off the edge of the table. She sipped the cold coffee from the mug on the other side of the desk. She swallowed. It tasted stale. A loud gulp and it slushed down her throat and fell heavy into her belly. Her stomach gurgled.

"Ugh," she said, sighing, as she heaved herself up out of her warm chair and swayed into the next room in search of a broom to sweep up the shards. She collected them in a small blue dustpan and emptied them into a small metallic garbage can; the little cylindrical kind you press your foot onto to make the lid pop up. A cat jumped down from a worn looking chair in the corner of the room across from where Emma had knocked over the glass. The cat was calico, orange, black and yellow, with piercing green eyes. The chair had scratch marks on the legs where the cat, Fever, had made a habit of stretching its arms. Fever curled its belly in toward its spine and made its best impression of a lower-case letter n before sauntering off into the room where Emma was putting away the broom.

Curious what the commotion was about, the cat calmly surveyed the scene. After it was satisfied with its investigation it tiptoed toward its bowl and made some waves in the water with a few flicks of its tongue. Its tail wagged from side to side behind it, like a flame. Emma felt odd, suddenly weak. She had been up for a long time. She wanted to go to sleep but she needed to finish her presentation.

Meow, Fever said as it rubbed up against Emma's shin.

Emma smiled faintly, bent down, and gave Fever a few long strokes from head to tail. She stood up. One step. Two steps. Three steps. Fall. Fever's tail stood straight, eyes wide.

Meow.

Emma lived on the bottom floor of her apartment building. The building was old and the walls were thick. Had she gone to the doctor earlier, instead of putting it off for work, she would have found out she had diabetes. She would have found out that her blood sugar was dangerously low, that skipping lunch was a bad idea, and that skipping dinner was even worse. Had she gone to the doctor she would have discovered it wasn't the caffeine that was making her shaky.

But none of that mattered now, nothing mattered now, except that the work needed to get done. Sure, someone would have to do it, but it wouldn't be Emma. She wouldn't be doing much of anything, anymore.