OPENING
357 Words
Morning begins on time.
There is no alarm, no one calling. The light in the room rises gradually, slow and even, like a decision already agreed upon. The man opens his eyes when his eyelids are light enough to open—not early, not late.
He sits up.
His body responds smoothly. No pain. No fatigue. No excess sensation worth noticing. Every movement is sufficient— as if rehearsed, though he does not remember ever practicing.
Outside the window, the city operates.
Not loudly. Not urgently. Just continuous motion: elevators descending, vehicles turning into the correct lanes, public screens updating numbers no one stops to read. Everything moves with a peculiar confidence—the confidence of systems that have never been questioned.
He washes his face. Warm water. Stable pressure. There is no moment that requires adjustment.
In the mirror, a familiar face looks back. No expression. Not emotionless. Just… correct.
The device on his wrist lights up for a brief second.
Status: compliant.
There is no sound. No further instruction. The text disappears as soon as he finishes reading, as if its only purpose was to be seen—not remembered.
He gets dressed, ties his shoes, leaves the apartment.
The shared corridor smells of clean materials and filtered air. Two others walk past him in the opposite direction. They do not look at each other. They do not avoid. They do not greet. There is nothing to exchange.
The elevator doors close.
In the brief moment as the cabin descends, a thought crosses his mind—very lightly—that if he did not leave home today, perhaps no one would notice immediately.
The thought passes quickly, not long enough to become a question.
The doors open.
He steps onto the street, merging into a flow of people moving with such precision that individuality is almost absent. No one is being forced. No one is being pulled. Each person is simply doing the next most reasonable thing.
Above them, a large screen displays the morning notice:
The system is operating within acceptable deviation.
No one stops to look.
And no one feels the need to.
- Writer
