The day began like any other.

The sun hung low in the sky, casting its usual golden light over the city. Outside the window, the familiar rustle of autumn leaves whispered in the breeze, as if nature itself were still moving through its quiet routine. But as the minutes ticked by toward the school bell, a strange weight settled in the air. Something felt wrong.

[Protagonist's POV]

I blinked, staring out the window. The sky had been its usual blue this morning, but now it seemed... off. The clouds, once light and airy, had thickened into an oppressive blanket of black. The air felt heavier, charged with something I couldn’t quite explain. I rubbed my eyes, wondering if I was just tired. Maybe I hadn’t gotten enough sleep. But the weight of the atmosphere gnawed at me, unsettled me.

I turned back to my desk, where the half-finished homework lay untouched. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, casting an artificial glow over the classroom, but they flickered. A soft flicker, then a pause. Then it happened again, more violently this time.

Was it just me, or did the lights seem a little dimmer than usual?

I glanced over at Kaito, my friend of many years. He was scribbling away in his notebook, focused—too focused. His pencil scratched the paper in a way that almost sounded… offbeat. His gaze, usually sharp and alive, now seemed distant, like he was looking past me, through me.

I called his name, but my voice felt distant, as if I was speaking from underwater. "Kaito?"

He didn’t respond.

"Kaito!" I tried again, urgency creeping into my tone.

His eyes blinked slowly, as if breaking from a trance. Finally, his gaze met mine, wide and almost... unnervingly wide. "Yeah? What is it?" His voice, usually light and playful, now felt rehearsed—like someone reading lines from a script.

I swallowed hard, an icy shiver running down my spine. "Are you alright?"

He smiled—just a little too much, too wide, and too quickly. "Yeah. Everything's fine. What were we talking about again?"

I looked around the classroom, half-expecting someone to speak up, to break the silence. But no one did. My classmates were all in their seats, staring ahead, like they were frozen in time. Something wasn’t right.

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

The bell rang, but the sound was strange. It echoed—louder than usual—a booming, distorted ring that seemed to linger in the air far too long. I rubbed my ears, trying to push the sensation out of my mind.

Everyone filed out of the classroom, and I followed the crowd, still feeling the weight of the strange unease. The hallways were bustling with students, the usual hum of chatter filling the air, but it wasn’t normal. The words came out wrong. They were too practiced, too perfect.

I stepped outside, and the cold hit me harder than I expected. But it wasn’t just the temperature. There was something heavy about the air, something suffocating. The sky, now a deep, unnatural shade of purple, seemed to close in on itself.

I pulled my jacket tighter around my body, my mind racing. Something wasn’t right.

As I walked home, I could hear snippets of conversation from other students, but their words didn’t match the expressions on their faces. Some were laughing, but their eyes were blank. Others repeated the same phrases over and over in an unbroken loop.

I reached my front door, and it was then that I felt the first real crack in my reality.

At home, everything was the same. Too same.

The faint smell of dinner wafted from the kitchen. My mother was there, chopping vegetables, her back turned to me as usual. She didn’t turn around when I walked in, didn’t greet me with the usual smile or even a casual comment. She just said the same words she always said when I walked through that door.

"Welcome home. Dinner's almost ready. You should study after you eat."

I froze.

I had heard that exact same line yesterday.

"Mom?" I called, my voice trembling. "Mom, did you—"

Before I could finish, she turned to face me. Her eyes were wide, her face blank, but her smile was oddly stiff, as though forced. Her lips moved, slowly, methodically. "Welcome home. Dinner's almost ready. You should study after you eat."

My breath caught in my throat. She said it again.

This time, it wasn’t just the words. It was the way she said them. So detached. Like she wasn’t even aware she was repeating herself.

"Mom, what’s going on?" I demanded, my voice shaking now.

She blinked, once, twice. Then, her smile returned, but this time it felt wrong. Too real. "Dinner's almost ready. You should study after you eat."

I slammed my fist against the table, the sound louder than I expected. But the room didn’t react. It was too quiet. Too still. Too perfect.

I ran to my room, slamming the door behind me. My mind raced. What was happening? What was happening to the world?

The next day, nothing had changed.

The same sky. The same blank smiles. The same feeling that the world was slipping through my fingers, that reality itself was breaking.

And then came the laughter.

A sound that couldn’t be ignored. A distant echo at first, then louder. Mocking. A laugh that didn’t belong to anyone in the room.

It was as if the universe itself was laughing at me.