Dead in the Water

Maria stood at the edge of the apartment complex's pool, clutching her termination letter like it might dissolve in the chlorine-scented air. The water was perfectly still, that artificial blue that made everything look peaceful even when your life was falling apart. She'd been a zombie for months anyway—moving through the corporate corridors on autopilot, responding to emails at 11 PM, forgetting what it felt like to want something. Now that the axe had finally fallen, she was surprised to find herself feeling more alive than she had in years.

A rustling in the manicured bushes drew her attention. A fox emerged, sleek and improbable, its coat glowing amber against the pristine landscaping. It regarded her with knowing eyes, then trotted to the pool's edge and drank, ignoring the No Animals sign completely. Maria laughed—a harsh, surprised sound. The fox looked up, unimpressed, and slipped away into the shadows as quickly as it had appeared.

She watched the water ripple and settle, thinking about all the things she'd never done. All the chances she'd declined because they weren't practical, weren't safe, weren't what someone like her did. Her phone buzzed—her ex-husband, probably, or another recruiter from some zombie company wanting to suck the remaining life from her veins.

Maria pulled off her heels, then her blazer. The letter fell to the concrete. She stepped out of her pencil skirt and folded it neatly beside the pool, like she might return to it later. Like the woman who wore those clothes might still exist. The water was shockingly cold against her skin, waking every nerve ending, making her gasp. She floated on her back and looked up at the stars, finally able to breathe. Tomorrow she'd figure out the rest. Tonight, she was just going to learn how to swim again.