Swimming in Static

Maya sat on the edge of her bathtub at 3 AM, fully clothed, watching her goldfish circle endlessly in his bowl on the sink.

"I'm a zombie," she whispered to the fish, who ignored her. "Corporate zombie. Forty-two years old and I haven't felt anything real in months."

She'd come home from work at 7 PM, stripped off her blazer, and found herself here four hours later, paralyzed by the weight of another missed promotion. Another younger colleague promoted over her while she'd nodded and smiled, her soul quietly unraveling.

Her phone buzzed on the tile floor. The cable company again. They'd cut her service three days ago, and she still hadn't called them back. What did she need cable for anyway? More news about the world ending? More shows about people living lives she'd never have?

The goldfish—Reginald, a ridiculous name she'd given him in a moment of whimsy—swam to the surface and opened his mouth in silent demand. She dropped a flake of food into the bowl. Sometimes she envied him. Just swimming in circles, eating when fed, no expectations beyond surviving another day.

"Is this it?" she asked the empty bathroom. "Is this all there is?"

Her phone lit up with a notification: the cable company offering a "special discount for valued customers." She laughed, a dry sound that echoed off the tiles. Valued. That was rich.

She stood up, knees cracking, and caught her reflection in the mirror. Hollow eyes. Skin pulled tight across bones that suddenly felt foreign. The goldfish swam behind her in the glass, a ghost of orange and white.

Maya turned off the bathroom light and walked to her bedroom. She'd call them tomorrow. She'd go to work tomorrow. She'd keep swimming through the static of her life, hoping for a signal that never came.

But tonight, she'd dream of oceans.