There is a bench.

  A shoe.

  A shadow without a body.

  And the sound of breathing—but not mine.

  I try to move.

  I’m stuck.

  Not physically. Not really.

  But like when you know you’ve already made a mistake and the moment’s still happening, and you can’t undo it, and you can’t wake up.

  A girl stands at the edge of the street. Her hair’s too dark. Her posture’s wrong. She’s already falling.

  This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

  Except she hasn’t moved yet.

  Except I’m watching it again.

  Except this isn’t the first time I’ve been here.

  There’s a voice behind me.

  I know it.

  It’s mine. And not mine.

  “You see it, don’t you? The fracture point.”

  No one speaks that way.

  Except in dreams.

  Except in guilt.

  I look down.

  There’s a crack running through the sidewalk, glowing faintly. Pale blue, like moonlight drowned in static. A thread of reality splitting open.

  I blink and it’s gone.

  The girl turns her head.

  And for a second—

  A single second—

  She looks right at me.

  Like she knows.

  Then the sound comes.

  That sound. Again.