Waving From Behind Myself

The fever hit at dawn. By noon, the news anchors were smiling too

widely, insisting the sky had always been that color—thick, bruised purple.

Doctors called it a perception virus. Harmless, they said. It didn’t change

reality, only how you saw it. By evening, streets bent at

impossible angles. People walked through walls, laughing, because they believed

doors were there. I locked myself inside, eyes shut, counting breaths.

Then my phone buzzed. Camera notification: Movement detected. I opened my eyes. The room was empty.

The camera showed me standing behind myself, smiling—perfectly healthy.