Annual Report

Today we sit in the chairs
you bolted to the floor
and ask you to wait in the hallway.

The clipboard is lighter than expected.
The pen works.
We begin with performances you never tracked:
hours lost to quiet panic,
ambition redirected into survival, how
often your voice entered the room
before your body did.

You receive an average score
for Leadership:
Below expectations for listening.
Exceeds expectations
for endurance of harm.

Notes section:
You swapped control for care.
You swapped longevity for wisdom.
You called it how things are

We acknowledge:
The structure, a ladder, a story to climb.
We also note the ladder was missing rungs,
the story revised mid-sentence.

Corrective action plan:
Unlearn urgency.
Return stolen time.
Stop painting burnout as devotion.

We close the file gently.
Outside, the clock keeps spinning,
No raised voices.
Just the long relief of naming the truth
without punishment.
For the first time,
we are not performing resilience.
We are practicing freedom.

You will not be escorted back in.
The hallway has begun to forget you.
Your reflection lingers only where
authority once rehearsed itself.

You ask, through the door,
what replaces you.
We do not answer directly.
We have learned better questions.

We redistribute the furniture.
Some of it burns beautifully.
There is a brief argument about legacy.
We resolve it by planting
where the filing cabinets stood.
Roots make excellent footnotes.
A child wanders through the room,
and this becomes our peer review.

The walls loosen.
The air stops bracing for impact.
Time, embarrassed, pretends this was always the plan.
We sign nothing.
We are done proving comprehension.

What matters is simpler:
the chairs are no longer bolted.
The door opens both ways.
The future enters without knocking
not as promise,
but as practice.