The alarm went off at work

The alarm went off at work

and my body knew before

my mind did. The fear

was immediate—hands cold,

heart jerking into overdrive.

We moved down the stairs

like we all shared one terror,

one burning building in our chest.

Halfway down, someone said

it's just a drill.

The relief came fast and then

came something else—a flinch,

a sting, the specific shame

of being fooled by your own

survival instinct. I'd been

afraid. Really. My body

had believed the building

was burning.

We stood outside in the sun

and people made jokes

about dying. Laughed about

being scared. I couldn't join.

I was still stuck in the moment

when the fear stopped,

when I learned my body

could lie to me, could make

me feel genuine terror

at absolutely nothing.

The drill was over. We went back.

The alarm went silent. But

it's still ringing in me,

still carrying the weight

of those two minutes when

I was sure something was

burning, and then I was

sure I was foolish, and now

I'm sure I can't trust either

version of myself—the one

who was afraid or the one

who wasn't. The alarm's

still going, but it's empty.