Dead Current

The storm outside Elena's 34th-floor apartment mirrors the turbulence in her chest. She watches the cable news anchor drone on about another mass shooting, another climate disaster, another reason to feel hollow inside. The coaxial cable connecting her television to the world outside feels more like a lifeline she's afraid to cut.

"You're becoming a zombie," Marcus had told her three days ago, his voice thick with that particular exhaustion that comes from loving someone who's slowly disappearing. "You go to work, you come home, you watch cable news until you pass out. Elena, you're not living anymore."

She'd wanted to scream at him then: *Of course I'm not living. Have you seen what living costs these days?* But she'd stayed silent, watching the blue light flicker across his face as he packed his bag.

Now lightning splits the sky outside her window, brilliant and terrifying, illuminating the barren apartment. In that flash, she sees herself reflected in the glass—hollow eyes, slack expression, the walking dead in designer pajamas.

The cable TV sizzles and goes dark. Power follows. For the first time in months, she's truly alone with her thoughts.

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The thunder rattles the windows, and something inside her cracks. She realizes Marcus was right. She's been moving through her days like someone possessed, eating breakfast, commuting, answering emails, sleeping, but never truly present. A zombie in corporate casual.

She finds her phone in the darkness, fingers clumsy with desperation. The screen lights up her face.

"Marcus," she texts, hands trembling. "I think I finally woke up."

The response comes seconds later, as if he's been waiting: "I'm still at my sister's. But I brought coffee."

Outside, the storm breaks. The first rays of sunrise catch her tears. She reaches for the disconnected cable, coils it like a snake she's finally decided to tame, and walks toward the door. For the first time in years, she's not just watching life happen to someone else on a screen.