Corporate Resurrection

Elena stared at the org chart projected on the conference room wall—great, another pyramid to climb. The CEO's face grinned from the top, a reminder that somewhere above her, real humans made decisions while she attended meetings about meetings. Her phone buzzed: third date with Marcus tonight. She'd managed not to cancel this time.

"Bullshit," the VP of Sales declared, slapping the table. "This quarter's projections are bull. We're not hitting targets." Elena's chest tightened. Rent was due Tuesday. Her mother's nursing home payment drafted on Thursday. The pressure in her throat felt exactly like panic.

She'd become a zombie somewhere around year three at this company. Shell of herself, going through motions, extracting meaning from spreadsheets and KPIs. The fluorescent lights hummed their usual migraine-inducing song. Seven hours until her date with Marcus, and already she could feel herself slipping away—the version of Elena who laughed at his jokes, who felt desire, who remembered what wanting something felt like.

Her phone buzzed again. Marcus: "Dinner at 8? New place downtown."

She typed back, then deleted. Then typed again. "Can't wait."

The pyramid on the wall seemed to pulse. Zombies all the way down, she thought. But not tonight. Tonight, she'd make herself remember how to be alive.