Vitamins for the Living Dead

Maya stood before the bathroom mirror at 6:45 AM, her face pale enough to pass for one of the undead. She swallowed the vitamin D supplement with clinical detachment, as if performing an experiment on someone else's body. Three years of corporate existence had reduced her to this: a collection of functions and responsibilities, moving through fluorescent-lit corridors with the hollow determination of a zombie who'd forgotten what brains were for.

The irony wasn't lost on her. She worked at a wellness startup, selling supplements to people whose lives were slowly hollowing them out, just like hers. Today's team meeting would discuss Q3 projections for their new sleep aid, while Maya subsisted on four hours of rest and whatever optimism she could manufacture before 8 AM.

Barnaby—her orange tabby, the only creature who didn't want anything from her—wound around her ankles, purring with the confidence of someone who knew he was the realest thing in her apartment. "At least one of us is alive," she murmured, scratching behind his ears. His fur was soft against her fingers, ridiculous and bright as a sunset in her sterile world.

She grabbed an orange from the counter, peeling it with practiced automaticity, the citrus scent sharp and rebellious against the ambient despair. For a moment, it was enough. The vitamin C, the burst of color, the cat's solid warmth against her leg.

Then her phone buzzed. Slack. Jason from marketing wanted to circle back on that deliverable.

Maya looked at herself again—really looked—at the woman who'd somehow become this person, this vessel of exhaustion and efficient responses. The zombie in the mirror stared back, resigned and professional. But somewhere behind those dull eyes, something small and ferocious flickered. Not hope. Hope was for people with options. This was simpler: the stubborn, unglamorous refusal to disappear completely.

She finished her orange, wiped her sticky fingers, and checked Slack. Back to the living dead.

But Barnaby was still purring.