[Start of recording. Sound of heavy, slightly staggered breathing detected. Typing rhythmic errors below the panicked garbled speech.] (Tuskv; hiss... coughs) Look, understand—I can't send all this. Time is contracting. I mean, dimensionally warping. Did you see the corners? My entire existence is getting frayed right now, like old lace tacked to a continental shelf. I never wanted to talk about tomorrow, listen? ‘Tomorrow’ doesn't feel like a single arrow. It feels… crystalline. It's refracting the afternoon into overlapping, unusable slices. Please, don’t treat me like this week's required pit stop. If you catch me already knowing what comes next, please know I barely assembled myself for today. The overhead light fixture—or what I remember the concept of overhead light to being. It's pulsing out-of-sync now, red, yellow, repeating... yellow… God, get away from 'W.' It's going to peel things off. From the sidewalk, from the infrastructure, from the edges of actual recollection. When it passes, sometimes the whole handset will judder, you know? Not a vibration. A shift. You almost see the screen ripples doing geometric calculations you can't compute: octagons folding over perfect curves. A momentary, sheer glimpse of what lies just beyond measurable elapsed time. (A desperate, high-pitched whimper mixed with the clacking of fingernails on plastic. The sound audio stutters violently, followed by a sharp, digital whine as a visible blue artifact washes across the phone's entire display area momentarily. It pulses three times.) No. Please. Wait! Do not... feel the gap. Just focus! The gap is where I break. Keep breathing shallow! Keep looking at—(Sound of pressurized glass shattering, followed by muffled screaming as the track abruptly ends with the digitized, dying thump*. The phone clicks inert.)
Mood: uneasy