Tuesday's Warning, Interrupted

(A sharp intake of breath, followed by the hiss of a bad connection. The voice is strained, too high-pitched.) Hello? Is this… is this recording? Please, listen. Don't—don't let anyone listen to this, okay? You shouldn't know. I just need to say it. Wednesday. It’s coming. It’s always coming, and it’s… it’s too loud this time. It doesn't just pass; it presses. (A sudden, sharp pop sound, like a faulty speaker, causes the audio to skip back a half-second, repeating the phrase "too loud" three times.) I can feel the seams fraying. The edges of the day are dissolving. I just want to stay in the interval, you know? The quiet space before the acceleration. (The background noise begins to fluctuate rapidly, cycling through tones that sound like distant, heavily modulated bells. Visually, the speaker's face on the phone screen warps, not smoothly, but in jagged, geometric shifts, like a bad chroma key.) It’s getting worse. The transition points are unstable. Don't look at the gap between me and… (The voice cracks, dropping into a desperate whisper.) Don't look at the gap. Just let it go. Please. (The screen image suddenly pixelates into a tight, rapidly scrolling grid of unrecognizable color blocks, accompanied by a high-pitched, sustained whine that cuts off abruptly.)