Dead Battery Walking

The charging cable frayed at the end, exposing copper wire like raw nerve. Elena watched it spark against her iPhone's port, another failed connection in a string of them. The screen flickered—3%, then 2%, then the promise of nothingness.

She'd come here to purge, to wade into the lake until the water seeped into her bones and washed away the numbness. But the friend who'd promised to meet her—her oldest friend, her only friend since Mark left—wasn't answering.

Sarah had been distant lately. Elena had dismissed it as stress, as Sarah's promotion, as the million reasonable explanations friends tell themselves to avoid the harder truths.

Then came the accidental text on Elena's phone three days ago. Not meant for her. A message to Mark about meeting at their apartment, about how Elena never needed to know. About how some secrets were kindness.

Now Elena stood ankle-deep in the lake, her phone dying in her hand, and realized she'd been functioning on autopilot for months. Going through work, eating, sleeping, smiling—all while her life had already ended. She was the zombie, not the victim. The walking dead who hadn't had the decency to lie down.

The iPhone died completely. No more waiting for explanations that wouldn't come. No more hoping for texts that weren't sent.

She dropped it into the water. It sank without a sound, leaving only widening ripples.

"Elena!" Sarah's voice cut across the water. Elena didn't turn. Some connections aren't worth saving.