When My Brain Went Zombie

Maya's phone buzzed for the third time in two minutes. Another Snapchat notification. Another thing she had to check. Another moment of her goldfish attention span flipping to the next shiny thing.

She was exhausted. Junior year was turning her into a certified zombie—dark circles under her eyes, brain fog from four AP classes, and a social media addiction that had her doomscrolling until 2 AM every night. Her mom kept saying, "You're going to burn out," but Maya just shrugged. Everyone was doing it. That's just how high school worked now.

Then her goldfish died.

It sounds stupid, but Bubbles had been her elementary school graduation present, somehow still alive after seven years in that tiny bowl on her desk. When she found him floating that Tuesday morning, something snapped. Not in a dramatic movie way, but like, internally.

She started running.

Not because she joined track or anything. Just... putting on her old converse and sprinting until her lungs burned and her legs felt like jelly. No phone. No notifications. No FOMO. Just pavement and trees and the sound of her own breathing getting louder, more real.

It was the first time in months she didn't feel like a zombie.

The first week, her former best friend Sierra caught her on the street. "Maya? Are you okay? You look... different."

"Yeah," Maya said, actually meaning it. "I'm good."

She'd blocked half her contacts. Deleted Instagram. Started studying at the library instead of trying to look productive at coffee shops. The zombie feeling was fading, replaced by something heavier but more solid—like she was actually a person again, not just a curated version of one.

Bubbles got replaced by a betta fish (named Roy, because he looked like he owned the place). Maya's grades actually improved. And she kept running.

Some nights, she still caught herself reaching for her phone at 2 AM. Old habits. But then she'd lace up her shoes instead, goldfish attention span redirected to something that didn't need a filter.

The zombie days weren't over—high school would always be high school—but at least now she knew how to outrun them.