Reality’s collapsing around us. Just… us.
Volatile, inter-dimensional shifts bubbling throughout our home. We’re existing in the same space, breathing the same air. Or so it seems.
She enters our kitchen. Phases through me.
“Morning,” I say.
Silence. No reaction to me. She sips coffee. No slurps nor satisfied gasps.
Thick layers of brane… brain? Translucent fields inflaming and growing denser. Filtering my greetings. My regrets. My apologies.
I waved. “Hey”.
We are occupying the same time and space. But never quite the same time. And. Or. Space.
Mission critical. Must. Reunite. Our. Realities.