Zombie Fish Protocol

Maya's cousin's graduation party felt like a zombie apocalypse. Everyone stumbled around, eyes glazed, thumbs glued to phones, occasionally grunting responses. Maya lasted twelve minutes before escaping to the basement.

The only interesting thing down here was Barnaby—the cousin's fat orange cat—and a tragic-looking goldfish in a murky bowl on the TV stand. "At least you guys get it," Maya whispered, sitting cross-legged on the carpet.

Barnaby flopped dramatically beside her, purring like a chainsaw. The goldfish surfaced, looking judgmentally through the glass.

"Maya! There you are!" Her aunt appeared in the doorway, breathless. "The cable's out. All the graduates are losing their minds. Can you help?"

Maya followed her upstairs to chaos. Three cousins were already arguing with the TV. "It's the HDMI cable!" "No, the splitter!" "We need to call someone!"

She dropped to her knees behind the entertainment center. Reconnected a loose coaxial cable. Fixed.

"You're like, actually useful," one cousin said, surprised. "Thanks."

Maya shrugged, but something shifted. Cousins started asking about her art projects. About her music taste. About anything beyond polite small talk. Someone mentioned the goldfish—"

Barnaby? Oh my god, he's obsessed. Like, full-on stares at it for hours. We think he's plotting something."

"Probably waiting for it to become a zombie," Maya cracked. "You know, undead fish attacks?"

They laughed. Real laughs, not zombie grunts.

Later, Maya found herself in a circle of cousins, talking about everything and nothing. Her phone stayed in her pocket. The goldfish swam peacefully in its corner. Barnaby watched from the couch, tail twitching, still plotting whatever cats plot.

Sometimes the most alive people are the ones who escape the zombie zone. And sometimes a loose cable is all it takes to reconnect.