They say anger is like a fire—easy to spark, but impossible to contain once it spreads. For Mikayla, it wasn’t just a flame; it was a wildfire, burning through reason and restraint before she even knew what was happening. Mikayla had heard lots of sayings about how to control herself a thousand times, but it never made a difference. When the rage came, it swallowed everything. Her breath quickened, her hands trembled, and nothing in the world mattered but her burning need to lash out.

This day started like any other. Mikayla would drag herself out of bed after hitting snooze one too many times, stumble into the shower, and stand under the hot water longer than necessary, dreading the day at her boring telephone customer service job ahead of her. She’d throw on whatever outfit was clean, grab a stale granola bar and a banana on her way out the door, and brace herself for another monotonous eight hours at her boring desk job. There, she would sift through an endless stream of emails, pretend to care about Chelsea from accounting’s weekend plans, and field frustrating phone calls from customers who somehow thought she was responsible for their mistakes. By the time five o’clock rolled around, she’d be too exhausted and all too eager to leave, retreating home to her tiny apartment where her adorable dog, Luna would greet her with the only genuine enthusiasm she’d see all day. She’d drop her bag by the door, ignore the growing pile of unpaid bills on the counter, and collapse onto the couch. Hours would pass in a haze of mindless TV shows, reheated macaroni and cheese, and scrolling through social media, watching other people live more exciting lives. It was routine. Predictable. The same as always.

But today… today would not be like any other. It would be far worse…

What made things worse for Mikayla was the constant battle to keep her anger in check, a struggle that only seemed to intensify with every passing day. She had to bite her tongue when her boss handed her extra work at the last minute, clench her fists under her desk when a rude customer talked down to her, and force a tight-lipped smile when her coworkers made mindless small talk that grated on her nerves. The pressure to suppress every irritated sigh, every sharp retort, every urge to slam down the phone or storm out of the office built up inside her like steam in a pressure cooker.

By the end of the day, she felt like she was ready to explode. Holding it all in was exhausting, making even the most minor frustrations feel unbearable. But she had no choice—if she lost her temper, she’d lose her job, and if she lost her job, she’d lose the only thing keeping her life from completely falling apart.

Upon entering the building, before Mikayla even reached her desk, she was intercepted by Chelsea from accounting, who was all too eager to launch into a mind-numbing story about all the fun she got up to on the weekend; a big dinner party with all her friends and family. Mikayla forced a polite nod, murmured a half-hearted “Sounds fun,” and sidestepped her as quickly as possible, but not before catching a glimpse of the growing stack of paperwork waiting for her. Her stomach tightened. She hadn’t even sat down yet, and already, it looked like she was behind.

She dropped into her chair and opened her email, only to be greeted by an overflowing inbox stuffed with urgent requests, passive-aggressive follow-ups, and last-minute assignments that she definitely had not been warned about. Before she could even process it all, her phone rang. Gritting her teeth, she picked it up.

"Customer service," she said, forcing as much neutrality into her voice as possible.

"Yeah, hi," a nasal voice on the other end began. "I ordered a product last week, and it still hasn’t arrived. This is completely unacceptable! Do you know how much I paid for priority shipping?!"

Mikayla glanced at the tracking information, which clearly stated that the package had been delayed due to a snowstorm—something entirely out of her control. She explained this as calmly as she could, but the customer wasn’t having it.

"Well, that’s not my problem, is it? Maybe if you people actually did your jobs, this wouldn’t have happened."

Mikayla inhaled sharply through her nose, gripping the phone so tightly her knuckles turned white. It was barely 9:00 AM, and she was already fantasizing about flipping her desk over and walking out. Before Mikayla had even put the phone down at the end of the call, she was accosted by Bill, the office’s self-proclaimed “Prince Charming, of both sales and the ladies,” though she had far less flattering words to describe him. He always seemed to have too much energy, too little personal space, and a relentless enthusiasm for hitting on his female coworkers. Mikayla had dodged his advances more times than she could count, but Bill either didn’t get the hint or just didn’t care. 

Mikayla was undeniably beautiful. Her wavy, chest-length blonde hair caught golden hues in the right light. She was naturally curvy, with a defined hourglass shape and full, well-proportioned breasts that caught eyes everywhere. But it was her eyes that truly set her apart—crystal blue, deep and captivating, framed by thick lashes so dark and full they looked as if she always wore mascara. While it was a rare sight, Mikayla’s smile would brighten up her entire face, and the whole room with it. Although she was used to being hit on by men, she never welcomed it at work, especially from someone as clueless and arrogant as Bill.

"Good morning, Mikayla," Bill said, leaning against her desk with a smug grin wide enough to punch senseless, his cologne already invading her personal space. "Rough call? You look like you could use a little pick-me-up. Lucky for you, I was just about to grab a coffee. Maybe you’d like to join me? My treat."

Mikayla let out a slow breath, forcing her fingers to unclench from the phone. She did her best to appear courteous, but firm. "No thanks, Bill. I have a lot of work to do."

"Oh, come on," he pressed, flashing a wink. "A little coffee break wouldn’t kill you. Or how about dinner tonight? It’d be nice to spend some time together, don’t you think?"

"I actually have plans tonight," Mikayla said flatly, hoping to shut this down quickly. "A date."

This was actually true. Mikayla had matched with a lovely dental hygienist on Hinge. Her date with him was the only thing she was looking forward to this week.

Bill’s expression faltered for half a second before he recovered. "Oh yeah? With who?"

"None of your business," she replied, finally turning to face him, her patience thinning by the second. "And for the last time, Bill, I don’t date coworkers. So can you please stop asking?"

Mikayla wanted to be much harsher—so much harsher. She wanted to tell him to fuck off, make it crystal clear that his repeated advances were as irritating as the flickering fluorescent lights overhead. But she held back, biting down on the sharp words that burned at the tip of her tongue. She needed this job. Bills didn’t pay themselves, and groceries didn’t magically appear in her fridge. So instead of unleashing the full force of her frustration, she exhaled sharply through her nose and turned back to her work, silently praying he'd take the hint this time, knowing in her heart he probably wouldn’t. He’d try again next week.

His smile twisted into something more forced. "Wow, alright. No need to be so cold about it. I was just being nice."

"No, you were ignoring my boundaries—again," she shot back. "Now, I have work to do. Leave me alone, Bill."

His jaw tightened, and for a brief moment, he looked genuinely irritated. "You know, you don’t have to be so rude, Mikayla. A simple ‘no thanks’ would’ve been fine."

Mikayla narrowed her eyes. She could feel a kettle boiling inside. "I’ve said ‘no thanks’ before. It never seems to work with you."

Bill scoffed, pushing himself off her desk with a dramatic sigh. "Whatever. You don’t have to be a nasty piece of work about it.”

She didn’t dignify that with a response. Instead, she turned back to her screen, jaw clenched, willing herself not to let her anger boil over. It wasn’t even ten in the morning, and she was already counting down the hours until she could escape this place. 

The day chugged on in true mediocre form. Customers called up, upset about whatever problem they had, and took their frustrations out on Mikayla, and she had no choice but to take it. Every call was the same—people complaining, blaming her for things beyond her control, demanding to speak to a manager when they didn’t get the answer they wanted. By the time 3 p.m. rolled around, Mikayla was exhausted, and a headache from the constant stream of irritation was coming along. Then, as if on cue, her boss, Mark, appeared at her desk, his usual stiff expression in place.

"Mikayla, I need you to stay late today," he said, tapping a folder against his palm. "We’re behind on reports, and I need them done before morning."

Mikayla groaned inwardly, resisting the urge to drop her head onto her desk. Instead, she forced herself to keep her voice even. "Mark, I’ve already been swamped all day. The customers just never let up. And honestly, I have something important tonight. I can’t stay late."

Mark raised an eyebrow. "More important than your job?"

"Yes, actually," Mikayla snapped before reigning herself in. She exhaled sharply and folded her arms. "I have a date tonight. And before you say anything, I worked late three times last week, and I’ve been getting all my work done. Bill barely does anything around here—why don’t you have him pick up the slack for once?"

Mark sighed, rubbing his temple like she was being difficult for no reason. "Bill is in sales. You’re in customer service. That’s not his responsibility."

Mikayla’s patience was wearing dangerously thin. "Okay, well, speaking of Bill, can you please do something about him? He keeps bothering me, even after I told him to stop. It’s making this job even more unbearable than it already is."

Mark barely reacted. "Oh, come on. Bill’s harmless."

Mikayla stared at him, incredulous. "Harmless? He keeps asking me out even though I’ve turned him down several times! I literally just told him to leave me alone today, and he got all pissy about it."

Mark waved a dismissive hand. "He’s just being friendly. You should be flattered."

Flattered? Mikayla’s jaw clenched. Clearly this company was not up to speed on matters of workplace harassment. She gripped the edge of her desk so tightly her knuckles turned white. "Mark. I’m not flattered. I’m uncomfortable and I want Bill to cut it out. If you’re my boss, then act like it and do something."

Mark let out an exaggerated sigh, as if she were being ridiculous. "Look, Mikayla, I don’t have time for petty office drama. Bill’s a good worker. And frankly, we’re all adults here—if you’ve got an issue, handle it yourself."

Mikayla felt heat rise to her face, anger burning behind her eyes. "Unbelievable," she muttered under her breath.

Mark ignored that. "Now, about staying late—you’re part of this company, and sometimes that means making sacrifices. We all have things we’d rather be doing, but work always comes first."

Mikayla clenched her teeth. The kettle was reaching boiling point. "So, let me get this straight—I’m expected to stay late whenever you say, put up with harassment because it’s ‘not a big deal,’ and just accept that none of my personal time matters?"

Mark gave her a tight, unimpressed smile. "Glad we’re on the same page."

That was it. The final straw. Mikayla could feel it—the heat rising in her chest, the pressure building behind her eyes, the sharp, all-consuming need to lash out. She had spent all day biting her tongue, swallowing her irritation, and holding herself back. But now? Now, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could contain the fire. Mikayla trudged on, doing her best to suppress her anger. The complaints, the demands, the entitlement—it was all too much. Her headache worsened with every passing minute; she could feel it behind her eyes, throbbing in sync with the pulse in her neck. The pressure was unbearable, but she had no choice but to keep going. She gripped the phone so tight she almost cracked the plastic handle. Her temples pulsed, her patience threadbare, she was on the brink of rage. Then the next call came.

"This is unbelievable!” screamed the irate caller. “I spent more than two thousand bucks on this fucking computer, and it’s already acting like a complete pile of shit! What kind of company sells faulty products like this? I need it FIXED! NOW!"

"I’m sorry for the inconvenience,” Mikayla said calmly, trying to appear diplomatic. “Let’s see if we can troubleshoot this—"

"Troubleshoot? Are you fucking kidding me? I don’t want to ‘troubleshoot’! I want a working computer! You people are all the same, selling defective crap and acting like it’s not your problem. I’m done with this!"

"I understand your frustration. Let’s work through the issue together—" The boiling point was nearing.

"Work through it? What’s there to ‘work through’? It doesn’t work! I demand a full refund or a replacement, or I swear I’ll make sure every review site knows how awful you are!"

“Sir, please. Try to calm down. We’ll work through this together, and—”

"I don’t have time for this nonsense, alright? I’m sitting here with a useless computer, and you’re telling me to ‘work through it’? What a fucking joke! You should be ashamed to even be employed with a company that lets this kind of crap fly."

Mikayla took a deep breath. "I’m really sorry for the frustration you’re experiencing. If we can just go over a few things, we might be able to get it working again."

The caller snorted in disbelief. "You’re just wasting my time! It’s obvious you have no idea what you’re talking about! How can someone as dumb as you even work in customer service? You’re more useless than this broken computer!"

That personal attack was Mikayla’s straw. "You know what? I’ve tried to be patient with you, but I’m done with this,” she snapped, drawing the attention of the workers in the cubicles around her. “I’m not stupid, and I don’t deserve to be treated like this. Maybe it’s you who needs a new attitude, not the damn computer!"

"Yeah? Well, maybe you need a new job, because you're clearly too dumb for this one!" The caller then slammed down the phone before Mikayla could give him another well deserved earful.

Mikayla stared down at the phone. Her heart pounded in her chest, the steady thud of it drowning out everything else, as her hands shook with the leftover adrenaline of her outburst. She could feel the fury simmering inside her, a red-hot rush that surged through her veins, faster and hotter than she’d ever felt before. Her mind raced as she tried to steady herself, but the force of the anger wouldn’t let up. She had never lost control like this before—not at work, not with a customer, never like this. And yet, here she was, the centre of attention and clueless what to do next.

Her coworkers, having overheard the entire exchange, were staring at her. She could already imagine what Mark was thinking. She knew what was coming. She knew the moment she went off on that customer that Mark had probably already started plotting how to fire her. The thought of him savoring her failure made the rage bubble up even more. Mikayla wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction of firing her first. With an abrupt movement, she stood up from her desk, slamming her hands on the edge as she pushed her chair back with a squeak of protest.

Without another word, Mikayla stormed toward the door, her footsteps sharp and angry against the floor. “Fuck you too, Chelsea! And you too, Bill, you fucking creep!” she shouted across the office. At this point she didn’t care about making a bigger scene. She knocked over a pile of ledgers off the reception desk, sending them flying across the floor. Once she made it through the door she didn’t look back. The door slammed behind her with a force that reverberated through the room. 

Mikayla couldn’t control her tears. The weight of what she’d just done hit her all at once, and she collapsed into the seat of her car. How had things gotten so out of control? She couldn’t believe what she had said, what she had done. Her mind was a whirl of regret and disbelief. She couldn’t go back to the office now—she’d made sure of that. The reality of it settled in like a truck had parked on top of her. She couldn’t even bring herself to go on the date she’d been looking forward to all week. The thought of it now felt so trivial compared to everything that had just happened. All Mikayla wanted at that moment was to crawl into the safety of her couch, pour herself several glasses of wine, and cry her misery away.

Just when Mikayla thought the day couldn’t possibly get any worse, she stepped through her front door and was immediately greeted by an unpleasant stench. Her heart sank. She barely had time to process before her eyes landed on the vomit her dog had left her right in the middle of the living room carpet. A thick, unappetizing pile of half-digested dog food and bile. The entire room reeked; it almost urged Mikayla to throw up herself. 

"Oh no, Luna," Mikayla groaned, “Not today…” 

She rubbed her temples as her headache pounded even harder. The pressure of having to clean after such a shitty day was bringing on a second wave of anger. The little golden retriever mix sat a few feet away, ears pinned back, her big brown eyes filled with guilt. Normally, Mikayla would have comforted her, reassured her that it wasn’t her fault, but tonight? Tonight, she just didn’t have it in her. It seemed that even Luna could tell that something was really not right with her owner tonight. Mikayla let out a long, exhausted sigh and tossed her bag onto the couch. She was too drained to deal with the mess. But, of course, she had no choice. 

After scrubbing the carpet, spraying half a bottle of air freshener, and cracking open a window to clear out the lingering stench, Mikayla finally collapsed onto the couch with an exhausted sigh, feeling beyond defeated. She poured herself a generous glass of her favorite merlot, desperate to relax and forget the current state of her affairs. Craving some kind of distraction, she grabbed her phone and called Nicole, the one person who could talk her down from the emotional cliff she was teetering on. The ringing went on for almost a full minute.

“Oh, Nicole, come on, pick up!” Mikayla pleaded, before reaching Nicole’s voicemail.

Mikayla groaned and tossed her phone onto the coffee table. Now, she was left alone with nothing but her thoughts—the consequences of her meltdown, the uncertain future ahead, and, most importantly, whether she had enough wine to survive the emotional turmoil of the night ahead. 

For the next few hours Mikayla stared out the window, watching the sun go down and sipping on her wine as she replayed the disaster of a day over and over in her mind. She was doing all she could to contain her anger. Her moment of rage and its consequences gnawed at her, tightening the knot in her stomach that the alcohol was so far not relieving. Then, something flickered in the corner of her vision.

A streak of orange light shot across the night sky, bright enough to pull her from her spiraling thoughts. Her brow furrowed as she leaned closer to the glass. That wasn’t a plane—too fast, too vivid. It burned with an otherworldly glow, leaving a shimmering trail in its wake. A comet? It had to be. 

Mikayla had never seen a comet before. The orange streak blazed through the sky, and from the angle it was heading, it seemed like it was making its way toward the nearby forest where Mikayla went for her jogs. For a brief moment, she forgot about the weight of her day—the frustration, the humiliation, and the impending uncertainty about her job. The thought of stepping outside, of doing something different, something that could pull her from her spiraling thoughts, was too tempting. Slightly tipsy, still angry, and feeling the need to escape, Mikayla grabbed her jacket and headed for the door. A brisk walk through the woods, followed by witnessing an uncommon scientific event, might just be what she needed to take her mind off everything.