Feed the Zombie

Sarah stared at her reflection in the bathroom mirror, picking at a stray gray hair that had appeared overnight. At thirty-four, she felt less like herself and more like a collection of compromises. She swallowed her daily vitamin without water, the chalky pill catching in her throat, a morning ritual that felt more like penance than self-care.

The apartment was quiet except for the bubble filter's persistent hum. In the fishbowl on her nightstand, the goldfish floated near the surface, its orange scales catching morning light through the blinds. Mark had bought it on their third date—something about low-maintenance companionship. Now it was the only thing from their marriage she hadn't packed into boxes.

Her iPhone buzzed against the nightstand, another notification from work demanding her attention in the group chat that never slept. Sarah ignored it. She'd become something like a zombie these past three months—moving through her days on autopilot, dead inside while her body kept showing up, kept answering emails, kept maintaining the appearance of a life that no longer fit.

The goldfish swam to the glass, mouth opening and closing in silent repetition. Feed me. Feed me. She dropped flakes onto the water's surface, watching them dissolve, wondering how much longer either of them would keep doing this.

Mark had come over yesterday to collect his things. He'd moved through her apartment like a ghost, barely speaking, eyes avoiding hers as he packed his life into cardboard boxes. "You seem tired," he'd said at the door, and she'd wondered if he meant tired in general or tired specifically of him. Probably both.

Sarah turned off the bubble filter. The sudden silence made her ears ring. She sat on the edge of the bed, the phone in her hand illuminating her face in the dim room, and realized she couldn't remember the last time she'd felt anything real. The goldfish swam in its diminishing circle, and Sarah understood how it felt—trapped in something see-through, watched but never truly seen, waiting for someone to finally remember to feed her.