Perfectly Unraveled

Everything's perfect in Pinewood. That's what they tell us. The town council

meets every Tuesday at midnight because that's when productivity peaks they say. The flowers only

bloom black now but the mayor insists it's a new hybrid species. Everyone's smiling.

Always smiling. Even when Mrs. Henderson's jaw unhinged last week she kept that same perfect smile.

The streetlights flicker in morse code but nobody mentions it. We don't talk about

the hum either. That constant buzzing that started three months ago. Or how the sky hasn't

changed color in days. Gray morning, gray noon, gray night.

But it's fine. Everything's fine. The children stopped playing outside. They just stand