Zombie Runner

I felt like a zombie. Actually, scratch that — zombies had it easy. At least they didn't have AP Chemistry first period, followed by cross country practice, then three hours of homework.

"You're not eating enough," my mom said, sliding a plate of eggs toward me. "Take your vitamin."

I gulped the giant orange pill with orange juice. Vitamin D, she'd said. Because apparently sixteen-year-olds who spend their lives either inside classrooms or running until their lungs burn don't get enough sunlight.

Coach blew his whistle at practice. "Last lap! Give me everything you've got!"

Running was supposed to be my escape. Instead, it felt like another thing to perfect, another metric to obsess over. My legs burned, my chest heaved, and I still couldn't escape the pressure pressing down on me like physical weight.

That night, something snapped. I laced up my shoes at 11 PM and just started running. No timer, no route, no expectations. Just movement.

The suburban streets were empty. Streetlights flickered. I ran past Mrs. Henderson's house with her plastic flamingos, past the elementary school with its chipped paint, past the "BEAR CROSSING" sign that someone had definitely put up as a joke.

Then I heard it.

A low rumble in the woods beside the trail. Not a car. Not the wind. Something alive.

I froze. My phone flashed 12:47 AM. The woods were dark shadows and darker shadows.

A massive shape emerged from between the trees. A bear. An actual bear.

My heart nearly exploded. The bear looked at me, chuffed once, and lumbered away like I wasn't even worth its time.

I stood there breathing in the cold air, feeling more alive than I had in months. The bear didn't care about my GPA. It didn't care about college applications. It just existed, wild and unconcerned.

I ran home, but different this time. Not running away from anything. Just running.

The next morning at breakfast, I took my vitamin without complaint. I still felt tired. I still had three tests that week. But something had shifted. I'd faced a bear in the dark and survived. Everything else seemed manageable.

"You look different," Mom said.

I smiled. "Just ran it off."