I simply stared at my alarm clock.

Bzzzt, bzzzt, bbbzzzt. It rang and rang.

Finally, I turned it off. Unplugging my phone, I slipped it into my pocket. All of this I was able to do without difficulty despite my perspective shift; indeed, it seemed like this was true: as long as whatever I was trying to interact with was in my immediate line of sight— and not too far off to either side of me— I was able to move my central body efficiently enough.

Feeling a tingle, I activated the frequency trigger and rose from bed. Shambling along my apartment as I always did in the morning, I stretched and opened the fridge to make myself up a glass of iced coffee. Unfortunately, I could not recall much of making the beverage once it was all made up; there was a frequency trigger, a sound of liquid pouring and stirring. Ice. Then I was at the table sipping it. I supposed that meant some actions included secondary actions as part of them— if I made myself some iced coffee, of course I was going to sit at the table to drink it. I was a little bummed because I usually liked to pace back and forth while drinking my morning caffeine, so it now being removed along with the third-dimension was off-putting to say the least.

As I went through my whole morning routine— what little there was— I began to feel more comfortable with the perspective shift, even if I did not like it as a concept. It was different moving around my apartment in either the left or right direction, as opposed to free movement in 3-D, but as I shifted from cosmic to first person, I got the swing of it all quickly and acclimated to doing everything via frequency triggers.

But again, as I did this, I was adjusting, and that was it. Like a petulant child, I was not happy with the arrangement. And, honestly, I wasn’t too happy with anything at the moment, not with the police considering me a suspect in a kidnapping, not with the loss of the third-dimension, and not with the loss of my agency, my ability to pace as I drank my iced coffee. I was burned out and man, I felt like it. If I weren’t the opener, I would simply call out.

But wait, Felix was gone— still? Who was I talking to? Myself? I guess.

I was not worried about Felix. I knew he would be back. In fact, somewhere in the back of my mind, I could feel his presence, like an itch just below scratching. He was there and monitoring me. But like a boyfriend giving his girlfriend some space during a trying time, he was cautious of me and my adjustment drama; which, I can’t say that I approved— it would have been nice to have more of a coach through this process. And yet, Felix was his own person (creature-ness notwithstanding) and I understood he might also have shit to do on his own, especially after the events of late.

From that point on, I did not do much before work. Just sat around the table, had another round of iced coffee— and to confirm that it was not possible to do anything other than prepare the cup and then drink it sitting down— and got dressed. Then I grabbed my keys, locked my apartment, and I walked to work.

It was only as I turned to leave my apartment, however, that I realized, “how am I going to find work?” I thought back to how much of an issue it was to locate my apartment. Then I thought about how late I was going to be and how I was going to screw shit up by being late in opening.

Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.

But, in the end, I just let out a long sigh. I legit did not have the energy to deal with this at the moment. I am going to walk to work like I always do, dimension be damned. And if I am late, if I am spending hours upon hours in trying to find the store, then so be it. I am officially out of fucks to give.

So, with determination, and lackadaisical courage, I began my commute to work.

~ ~ ~

In cosmic mode, I moved my body to the edge of the dimension strip.

I felt a trigger tingle but I did not indulge it. If I did, it would only lead me back to the place I had started to call “Little Village.” The little overview area with the four buildings and that would . . . wait, wait. I said to myself as my train of thought trailed off.

My place of work was on the same road as the gas station. It might not be the route I normally take, but, I could return to Little Village and then see if I couldn’t find a path from the gas station to my work? Worth a shot.

Taking the frequency trigger after all, I emerged quickly into the Little Village area.

It took me no time to walk myself to the gas station. Although I didn’t have any idea what I was looking for, I started to search, not unlike when I was a kid playing a video game and had no idea where to go next on my quest, so I just started to comb over every inch of the map, clicking at random. Not oblivious to the fact that it was early morning and therefore, I would do well to not appear like a creep, I just went inside the store.

Inside, there were a few early bird commuters milling about. In first person mode, the dimensional strip was much like my apartment— one way. Sure, the tiny gas station store had a few aisles, but evidently, those aisles held no sway over me and there were no “bends,” so to speak, in the strip that would allow me to venture outside of the typical left-right pathway.

Picking up a cereal bar and a citrus soda— wondering all the while if I even remembered to bring my wallet— I approached the counter and as I did so, I entered first person mode.

Before me was the overnight clerk. With most of his facial features obscured by his lengthy bandanna that was tied tightly around his face, I only saw his piercing eyes between his hat’s outward sticking visor and his mask. He seemed young.

“Morning,” I said, “just this and directions to the nearest grocery store if you have them.”

Quickly ringing me up, I reached into my jacket and pulled out my wallet— thank god I had it! I put the five dollar bill on the counter and waited for a response.

“Sorry. I am new to the area. I think one is down the street but I don’t know for sure. I only passed it once— could be a farmer’s market for all I knew! Ha.” the clerk said with a little bit of tension in his tone, clearly nervous about not being able to completely satisfy his customers every need for fear of retaliation. Poor kid.

“Not a problem!” I said back. “Thank you for your time, young man.”

Young man? I was barely thirty . . . where did that come from? I had to laugh at myself for that— haha!

But as I left the corner gas station— still in first person— I felt lighter. As if more of myself was returning after the unsettling events of the previous night; up until now, I felt like a shell of myself. I still felt like a shell, but like one with a fresh layer of bone and minerals, and one that might attract some darling bit of old meat.

Strange analogies aside, though, I walked away from the store. Doing so, I suddenly remembered a route to my workplace, one that I took, actually, back when I myself first moved into the area. Man, how long had it been? About a decade, in fact. How time flies.

As I approached the sidestreet, I felt that trigger tingle and I walked down the street, the automatic movements of my body turning direction a weird feeling in first person as my limbs weren’t my own for the duration of the action-movement.

If I were in a video game, then the end of the action-movement would herald the transition to a new screen, and and as I found myself in the parking lot of Augustford Grocery, I knew that I had found a new location.

I approached the dimly lit parking lot and prepared myself for yet another shift in this strange world.