The Dead Collection

Elena adjusted the brim of her hat, hoping no one would notice the gray strands escaping from her bun. At 42, she was the youngest director in the company, but the days of being the 'rising star' felt distant. She felt like a zombie, going through the motions of leadership while her passion had died three mergers ago.

The elevator dinged. Tom stepped in, his hair perfectly coiffed, his suit crisp. They'd been friends since junior year, before the corporate ladder had turned them into different species.

'You're running the meeting today, right?' Tom asked, too cheerful.

'Yes.' She hated how her voice lacked conviction.

'I'll take notes,' he offered. 'Like old times.' He didn't mention that old times had been them running a startup from a garage, believing they'd change the world. Now he took notes for her in fluorescent-lit rooms where they discussed synergies and rightsizing.

The boardroom smelled like stale coffee and desperation. Twelve faces looked to her for direction, for vision, for anything other than the quarterly targets she'd recite. Tom sat at her right hand, loyal friend, faithful lieutenant. She wanted to scream that this wasn't what they'd promised each other at 22.

Instead, she said: 'Let's begin with the Q3 projections.'

Her voice sounded dead in her own ears.

Afterward, Tom found her on the rooftop terrace, staring at the skyline.

'You okay?' He removed his hat, ran a hand through his thinning hair. 'You seem... distant lately.'

She laughed, a harsh sound. 'I'm not distant, Tom. I'm dead.'

He didn't laugh. 'So quit. Remember what we said? If we ever became zombies...'

'You're still running toward something,' she said softly. 'I'm just running away.'

'Then run toward something else.' He smiled sadly. 'Come with me. I'm starting over. Fresh.'

The wind caught her hair, freed it from its careful constraints. She thought about the years spent in rooms like today's, the carefully curated image, the slow death of everything she'd loved about herself.

'The hat,' she said suddenly. 'I don't want to wear it anymore.'

'Then don't.' He extended his hand. 'Friend, you were never the type to hide anyway.'

She took it.