Alex struggled through yet another monotonous day, his weary feet guiding him through the barren wasteland that had become of the world, and found he couldn't do it. He couldn't go home today, not feeling like this. Se he broke the cycle. He continued wandering aimlessly through the desolate streets. Nothing caught his eye, no life stirred in the empty alleys and abandoned buildings.

He stumbled upon a forsaken park, its trees naked and dead, its grass brown and shriveled. A few wildflowers dared to bloom, but they were merely a mockery of nature's splendor. A food vendor stood there, hawking the only nourishment offered to the populace under their tyrannical regime.

The aliens had taken the public spaces, demanding a vendor in each one regardless of whether it was needed or not. The range of food was dubious, at best: a confusing mix of palatable-yet-unfamiliar offerings and downright repulsive fare; an obvious indicator that the aliens had made little effort to understand human cuisine. From melted ice cream coated in wooden popsicle sticks to insects spattered in sickly sweet syrups, no disgusting dish was beyond them. Alex felt nothing but pity for those who were forced to sell this wretched smorgasbord or else face disappearance.

Alex collapsed onto the decrepit bench, weathered paint chips crumbling beneath him. The oppressive fabric of his janitor's uniform clung to his skin like an irrevocable shackle—an inescapable reminder of his stolen freedom and the grim reality of life under a tyrannical regime.

As Alex sat there, thoughts of days past assaulted his mind. He remembered the beauty of life—children playing in parks, laughter in the air, and him looking up to marvel at the shape of clouds. But as he looked up now, all he saw was a prison of oppressive gray clouds hovering over him; a reminder of his own misery. Alex closed his eyes and let out a deep breath, feeling himself sinking into the depths of despair. What did it all mean? Was this what life had become now? Was this all there was to living?

The sun valiantly fought through the thick blanket of grey clouds, and Alex could feel its warmth upon his face. He could sense a tiny spark of hope kindled inside him, followed by a wave of anxiety. But he knew that if he could only find the courage to-

“Fortune cookies!” The vendor bellowed, his voice cheerless voice grating on Alex's nerves. The vendor's cart creaked and rattled against the pavement, and Alex felt himself snap back into focus. He turned to find a man with dull eyes pushing a creaking cart through the park, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Alex was the only potential customer.

“Get your fortune cookies here!” the man shouted again. Alex had heard of worse decisions on the aliens part to sell as food. Bland cookies could almost be seen as a win.

Alex halted for a moment, pondering the value of fortune cookies. They were nothing but empty calories, but those little scraps of paper stashed inside held the promise of something greater - hope. The vendor hobbled along with his cart, and it felt rather heartless to reject him. Alex waved him over begrudgingly, preparing himself for a dose of sugarcoated platitudes.

Alex peered into the man's eyes, reading past the facade of a smile and seeing the distress and agony hidden behind it. There were a thousand words of the portrait of the man's strained smile, most of them 'help' but Alex needed to focus, for this part was essential - selecting his fortune.

Alex carefully examined the line-up of fortune cookies before him, every fiber of his being keenly aware of the importance of his decision. He had spent hours perfecting this art form, learning to recognize subtle nuances that could make all the difference in finding a mediocre outcome or something truly special. With each moment, the weight on his shoulders grew heavier; would he choose wrong? Would his wisdom be wasted if he missed the best quote or lesson? His gaze settled on the slimmest-looking cookie and the vendor's eyes flickered briefly with life - a reminder of what was at stake here; fate. Alex took a deep breath and made his choice.

He quickly tossed the cookie back and chose another at random. The vendor gave a slight dip of his chin, some brief spark of life behind his tired eyes, before shuffling away. Alex stayed put on the bench, regret curdling in his gut as he stared at the cookie.

Alex grasped the plastic, his eyes narrowed in anticipation. He knew that too much haste would disrupt the magic within. With hands like a surgeon, he carefully cracked open the spongy cookie. The crunch of the halves gave way to an aroma that begged him to throw the cookie away and just read the fortune. Alex resisted, he had been taught since childhood that one must savor every morsel of the cookie for true fortune-telling accuracy. Alex deliberitly chewed both halves of the cookie with fierce concentration. After all, every crumb might hold a clue to the secrets whispered by Fate.With reluctance, Alex wiped his pants of crumbs, hoping none of the answers had been lost to him in their loss.

Finally done, Alex unraveled the slip of paper and stared at its words, wondering what mysteries hidden within.

He anticipated a typical, inane message found within the walls of every fortune cookie ever made. His future hung in the balance as he scrutinized each word, parsing out their meanings and weighing them against every sign and omen life threw at him. For he knew that it wasn't just fate that governed one's destiny, but the choices they made along the way. And so he searched for meaning in the single scrap of paper, desperate for an answer, or maybe just the right question.

"Mirrors can't eat people," he read in a low, wavering voice. It was then that he felt it: an invisible force peering into his very soul, searching for something it needed. He dared to look around but whatever it was already gone, and all that remained was an eerie stillness. His blood ran icy cold as he realized what had nearly happened--he'd nearly been disappeared for simply reading the fortune cookie. The small scrap of paper trembled in his hands as he desperately clung onto it, feeling hollow and helpless.

Alex's eyes brimmed with unshed tears - his entire existence had been held in question, at thee whim of another, and he had some how survived. But still, that spark that he'd pushed deep down so many times burned, if they were looking, it meant there was something to find. And as Alex looked down at the paper in his hands he was sure it had been worth finding, and the aliens had missed it. He wouldn't let this chance slip by.

'Mirrors can't eat people... what the hell does that mean?' he thought, not even daring to mumble the words under his breath, his eyes darting back and forth as if searching for some hidden meaning within the cryptic message. His heart raced and an electric energy surged through him. Something significant was hidden in this cryptic message, some kind of secret that had been overlooked by the aliens. But Alex wouldn't be fooled- he'd cracked the cookie once, he'd do it again.

Alex squinted at the words scrawled across the crinkled parchment. His life had become an endless, inescapable cycle of monotony and disappointment. Nothing seemed to bring him solace—the burden of sanity in these times had done nothing but torment him. Alex was desperate for some kind of respite, and this tiny scrap of paper may be his way out, no matter how irrational it seemed. With nothing else to hold onto, Alex took a chance. He trusted in the promise that the note made, even though some small part of him knew it was crazy.

"Think, Alex, think," he whispered, his brow furrowing in concentration. A frantic energy surged through him, propelling him to rise from the bench and began to pace back and forth in front of it, muttering under his breath and wracking his brain for the solution hidden within the riddle.

“Mirrors-” he blurted before quickly trying to take back his words. 'They can't eat people' echoed through his mind, the mantra now ingrained in his brain. He repeated the phrase over and over again until it lost all meaning.

But Alex didn't care, he could feel a spark of hope being lit within him, an ember that had so long been smothered by the grim world around him. This hidden message was somehow the key; he needed to figure out what it was. His heart raced as his mind spun with possibilities, a sense of purpose giving him strength even as insanity crept into the corners of his consciousness.

Abandoning the bench, he started off towards home with out so much as a glance at the shell of a world around him. His mind was transfixed by the riddle that kept spinning in his head. He scarcely noticed where he was going, until he eventually arrived back at his doorstep.

Alex obsessed over each word, night and day. He analyzed every detail with madness and frenzied intensity, breaking through the barrier that had held him back before and welcoming the new found freedom it brought. He pondered the words before him like an artist to a canvas, studying curves of the letters and the space between with an intensity bordering on mania. Symbols and metaphors danced around in his head as he tried to make sense of them, but no matter how hard he tried the truth remained elusive.

Metaphors and symbols swirled in his mind like smoke in the wind; meanings twisted and warped until they lost all semblance of their former selves.

Nevertheless, Alex felt a newfound purpose stirring within him - a purpose that gave shape to his emptiness and nihilism. He was driven forward by a desire to conquer the conundrum, no matter the cost. And so, he continued ever deeper into its murky waters.