Ghosts of the Machine –

  There’s a soft hum in the air, like the world’s trying to remind you it’s still here. But you’re not fooled. The hum isn’t comforting. It’s more like the buzz you get when your phone is on silent but still keeps vibrating in your pocket, making you think you’re getting messages that aren’t there. Except, the world? It’s the message.

  You’re walking down a street that used to be crowded. Now it’s just empty, like someone hit the pause button on life and forgot to press play. It’s like a bad version of that dream where you think you’re running but you’re not getting anywhere. You feel like you’re caught in some kind of cosmic glitch. The kind where you’re not sure if you should laugh or scream because, honestly, both options feel like the same amount of effort.

  The voice is back, too. Of course it is. It’s like that friend who shows up to your house uninvited, eats all your snacks, and then asks why you’re not having fun. The voice has gotten less insistent lately, more… passive-aggressive. Almost like it’s tired of you running away from it.

  “You’re still walking?” it says, not even trying to hide the sarcasm. “Really? You’d think by now you’d have learned to just sit back, relax, and let the machine do the work for you.”

  You snort, not even bothering to look around like you’re checking for other people. Because who would even be left to see you have this conversation with yourself? The world’s a wasteland now, and you’re just strolling through it like some kind of lost tourist who can’t read the map.

  “You’re doing it all wrong,” the voice continues, tone too cheerful. “You should really take the time to appreciate the little things, like the fact that you’re alive. Or at least… whatever version of ‘alive’ you are now.”

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  You glance down at your hands for a second, half-expecting them to flicker like a bad signal. But nope. Still human. Still trapped in this weird dimension where nothing feels real but you know it is. Or at least, it used to be.

  “Seriously though,” the voice adds, like it’s doing you a favor, “You’re walking through an apocalypse, my friend. And you’re just… strolling. Look at you. A real rebel, huh? I would’ve thought you’d at least be running for your life, but no. You’ve got this cool ‘don’t care’ vibe going. It’s almost inspiring, really. Almost.”

  You can’t help but laugh at that. It’s dark, but it’s the kind of humor that cuts through the fog in your mind. Yeah, it’s messed up. Yeah, you’re probably losing your grip on sanity—but if you’re going down, you might as well have some fun with it, right?

  At least this isn’t boring.

  “You really are an enigma,” the voice muses. “You’re in the middle of an existential crisis and you’re making jokes. I gotta hand it to you. No one’s ever been this chill about the end of the world before. I mean, usually, people cry. Or scream. But you? You just keep on walking.”

  You stop for a moment, staring at the nothingness around you, trying to put it all together. The emptiness feels… endless. But then it hits you: you’re not in the middle of the apocalypse. You’re in the middle of a joke. The joke that everyone’s in on except you. And the punchline? Well, that’s still a mystery. But you’ve got this awful feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’re the punchline.

  “Oh, don’t worry,” the voice says, as if reading your mind. “It’s not over yet. But trust me, it’ll be a real cliffhanger when you finally figure it out.”

  You sigh, looking at the cracked pavement beneath you. Your shoes shuffle against the dirt, but nothing feels solid. And you realize, maybe it never did. You’ve been stumbling through this world for so long, pretending it’s real, pretending you can control it. But in the end, it’s just another sick game the machine’s playing.

  “If I were you,” the voice says, suddenly serious, “I’d start asking myself some questions. Big ones. Like: How long do you think you can keep pretending you’re not already dead?”

  You stop dead in your tracks. The world around you doesn’t flinch, but your heart? It stops for a beat. The voice is right. You don’t feel alive anymore. You feel like a ghost, walking through a world that’s already forgotten you.

  But, hey. It’s not all bad, right? At least you’ve got one thing going for you: the dark humor. And maybe, just maybe, that’s the only thing that’s keeping you from completely losing it.

  “See? I knew you’d get it eventually,” the voice says, pleased with itself. “Not bad. Not bad at all.”