Goldfish Wake Up Call

Maya's iphone buzzed for the seventeenth time in twenty minutes. Insta-snaps, group chats, the endless scroll that had become her entire existence. She felt like a zombie—dead behind the eyes, fingers moving automatically through motions that didn't mean anything anymore.

"You're missing your life," her mom had said that morning. But what life? The one where she performed happiness for 847 followers?

The only thing that felt real was Comet, her goldfish. His bowl sat on her desk, a tiny universe of peace. Comet didn't care about her follower count or whether her outfit was aesthetic enough. He just swam.

"At least you're real," she whispered, tapping the glass. Comet blew a bubble.

Her phone buzzed again. Someone had posted something. Someone else had commented. Someone else was living their best life while Maya felt like she was drowning.

That's when it happened—her phone slipped from her sweaty palm and shattered against the floor.

Panic. Then... nothing.

No notifications. No scrolling. no performing. Just her and Comet and the sudden silence.

She stood up and started walking. Then running. Past her house, past the manicured lawns, past everything that felt fake. Her lungs burned, her legs ached, and for the first time in forever, she felt ALIVE.

The wind on her face, the thud of her sneakers against pavement—this was real. Not filtered. Not curated. Just her, breathless and messy and human.

An hour later, she returned, sweaty and exhausted. Comet was still swimming in his tiny universe, oblivious and perfect.

"Hey buddy," she said, dropping onto her bed. "I think I'm done being a zombie."

Her phone lay cracked on the floor. She left it there.

Some things are worth more than likes. Some things are just worth living.