As the World Change

Chapter 14 - Fragments of Reality

Trigger Warning: This chapter contains disturbing imagery, including depictions of violence and blood. Reader discretion is advised.

Note: This is a work of fiction and any resemblance to real events or people is purely coincidental.

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Chapter 14: Fragments of Reality

It's been a year since the pandemic, and the world has shifted in strange and unsettling ways.

Most people, safely locked away in their homes, remain blissfully unaware of the changes outside.
But for those of us who have to risk our lives to survive, we watch as the world we once knew slowly mutates into something else—something darker.

As I pedal through the empty streets, the quiet is suffocating. The buildings around me are familiar but somehow foreign now, decaying under the weight of neglect. 

My eyes catch sight of one of the strange, decaying circular masses—the kind that appeared months ago.

It's an ugly, pulsing shape, like something organic trying to emerge from the ground.

Every time I pass one, I get this feeling—this prickling, like my skin knows something my brain can't quite process.

The air around it smelled wrong—an unsettling mix of rot and something metallic, almost tangy.

It clawed at my throat, making me gag as I pedaled past, the silence of the streets amplifying my unease.

Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked, breaking the oppressive stillness.

The government pretends nothing's happening. They scrub online posts and call these things fables, dismissing the strange happenings as conspiracy theories.

But anyone who's lived out here long enough knows the truth: if those circles turn out to be portals—portals to another world filled with god knows what—we're in trouble.

I shake off the thoughts and shift my weight to push my bike uphill.

The pandemic did have one upside—the streets are eerily quiet.
Even the homeless, who once camped along the roads, have vanished. 

The intersection ahead is almost peaceful, except for a lamp post that leans dangerously into the street.

Rust streaks its metal frame, and sprouting vines have begun to curl around its base, twisting up toward the broken glass of the light.

It looks like it's been abandoned for years, nature creeping in to reclaim the space.

I sigh, pulling out my phone to call the customer.

I'm close enough to drop the order here, but of course, they won't meet me.

They insist I bring it to their door, quoting the company's motto about "customer service."

"Sure," I mutter under my breath. The road ahead is steep, and my legs are already burning from what feels like the eighth or ninth delivery today. 

By the time I arrive, sweat pours down my back and my arms are trembling from the weight of the heavy bags.

Their house stands out—white wooden gates in stark contrast to a beautifully maintained garden.

The flowers look like they're thriving, vibrant petals bright against the wooden deck, and I can tell someone's been tending to them carefully.

I press the doorbell and wait. No answer.