Goldfish Wake Up Call

The zombie state hits sometime around third period. You know the feeling—eyes glazed, brain half-dead, shuffling through hallways like the walking dead in every corny movie ever. Maya's been running on two hours of sleep and three energy drinks, her existence basically a zombie simulation at this point.

She's supposed to be bear-ing down for finals, but instead she's staring at her goldfish, Finnegan, who's been doing backflips in his bowl since Tuesday. The pet store guy swore goldfish had three-second memories, but Finnegan remembers everything—feeding times, when she's upset, which songs make him dance (or whatever fish do when they get hyped).

"You're living your best life, huh?" Maya taps the glass. Finnegan wiggles his orange tail.

Her phone buzzes. Group chat going off about Jordan's party Friday. Everyone's going. Everyone expects her there. But suddenly the thought of another night of pretending to be someone she's not feels... wrong. She's been zombie-walking through sophomore year, saying yes when she means no, laughing at jokes that aren't funny, bearing the weight of expectations like they're hers to carry.

Finnegan does another backflip.

Maya realizes something. Goldfish don't actually have three-second memories—that's a myth. They remember for months. And zombies aren't real. But living like one? That's a choice.

She types into the group chat: not feeling it tonight. you guys have fun.

Delete. Rewrite: actually, I'm gonna pass. need to recharge.

Send.

Her heart hammers. The zombie state fades. For the first time in months, Maya feels awake.

Finnegan wiggles like he knows. "You're right," she tells him. "Life's too short for zombie mode."

She picks up her textbook. Finally ready to actually bear down—for real this time.