No one remembers when the sky first flickered. At first, it was subtle, like a buffering video no one had clicked. Birds paused mid-flight. Streetlights blinked in patterns that almost felt… intentional.
People blamed satellites, solar flares, and bad Wi-Fi. But the truth sat just outside perception. Watching. Waiting. Evan noticed it because his phone stopped loading. Not dead, just stuck. A spinning circle… then a flash. A video appeared. No title. No thumbnail. No channel name. Just a symbol: Cosmic Works.
He didn’t remember subscribing. He didn’t remember searching. Still… he tapped it. The video opened to a white void. A figure stood there — tall, quiet, almost made of starlight and static. It looked directly at him. Not at the camera. At him.“Ah,” it said calmly, “another one falling.”Evan frowned.“Falling where?”The figure tilted its head.“You haven’t noticed?”Evan’s stomach dropped. The room around him stretched — like reality was being pulled thin. The walls elongated. The ceiling drifted upward. His chair… gone.
Below him, nothing. Above him, nothing. He was suspended. Then, slowly… he began to fall. Wind rushed past him, but there was no air. Just fragments.Moments.Memories that weren’t his.Cities folding in on themselves. Stars are born and die in seconds. Versions of himself living lives he never chose. And through it all, his phone stayed in his hand. Still playing. The figure reappeared on screen, now casually sipping from a mug labelled “#1 Creative Entity.”
“Interdimensional descent can be… tedious,” it said. “But lucky for you,” It leaned closer. You found something to pass the time. "Evan spun slowly as he fell, watching. More videos auto-played.Cosmic landscapes.Strange creatures. A cartoon guy falling endlessly… completely unbothered.“Wait…” Evan muttered. That’s me.”The figure smiled. “Not yet.” The fall slowed. Or maybe… he just stopped caring. Time didn’t feel real anymore. Only the videos did. Each one sharper. Clearer. More… stable than everything else.
"Quick note,” the figure added, casually. “If you’d like to continue existing in a semi-coherent narrative structure… ”A button appeared on Evan’s screen. Red . Familiar “you’re going to want to hit that.” Evan hovered. Falling. Watching. Thinking. Then, he tapped Subscribe. Everything snapped. He was back in his room. Chair. Walls. Ceiling. Normal. Quiet. Still.
His phone buzzed a notification: “Welcome back.”
