Elias tried to call for help, but the keypad on his phone was a jumbled mess of trapezoids and squished ovals. He couldn’t tell where the numbers began or ended. He was trapped in a funhouse mirror that had swallowed reality whole. 🚪 The Vanishing Point
But this morning, the distortion had claimed his own flesh. He reached up and touched his cheek. His skin felt normal, smooth and familiar under his fingertips, yet the glass insisted that his face was melting toward his shoulder. 🌀 The Creeping Contortion distorted shape
It had started with small objects. A coffee mug on his desk that suddenly looked oval instead of round. A book on his shelf that seemed to lean at an impossible angle, though its spine remained perfectly straight. Elias had dismissed it as eye strain or fatigue. Elias tried to call for help, but the
The reflection in the mirror was wrong. Elias stared at his own face, but the jawline was pulled slightly to the left, stretched thin like warm taffy. He blinked, rubbing his eyes, but the geometry of his own bone structure refused to snap back into place. 🪞 The First Shift 🚪 The Vanishing Point But this morning, the
were elongated, silent metallic streaks stretching block to block.
Elias took a deep breath and stepped forward into the beautiful, terrifying mess of the unknown.