Last Man Walking

The alarm blared at 5:30 AM, and David dragged himself out of bed like a corpse reanimating for another meaningless shift. At 47, he'd become the office zombie—present in body, absent in spirit, shuffling through meetings and spreadsheets while his soul atrophied somewhere around 2019.

Only Max kept him tethered to reality. His golden retriever waited by the door, tail thumping against the wall, unaware that his owner had died years ago. Their morning walks were the only honest moments in David's carefully constructed pyramid of lies: the mortgage on a house he'd stopped calling home, the promotion he'd celebrated with numb champagne, the marriage that had dissolved into separate bedrooms and separate lives.

At the office, Richardson paced before the whiteboard like a bull preparing to charge. "We need to pivot, people. Disrupt. Synergize." The bullshit flowed so freely now that David wondered if Richardson believed his own corporate mythology. The pyramid scheme of organizational charts and KPIs had collapsed inward years ago; they were all just pretending the structure still held.

"David, you're with me on this?" Richardson's eyes locked onto his.

David opened his mouth and heard himself agree, like he always did. The zombie kept walking.

That evening, as Max nudged his hand for attention, David found himself scrolling through old photos on his phone. There he was, ten years younger, standing before an actual pyramid in Egypt, eyes bright with wonder. He'd sworn he'd live boldly, love deeply, never compromise. The man in the photo seemed like a stranger who'd been murdered and replaced.

The phone buzzed—Richardson, asking him to prepare another presentation for tomorrow's meeting. David stood up, walked to the home office he hadn't used in months, and began to type. Not the presentation. His resignation letter.

Max barked once, sharp and clear, like he'd been waiting for this moment all along. For the first time in years, David didn't feel like he was already dead. He felt like a man who might, possibly, remember how to live.