Chloe ran downstairs. The front door opened onto a library that stretched infinitely in all directions, shelves made of rib bones. A small, hooded figure sat on a pile of broken clocks, reading a book titled How to Unbirth Yourself .
Her phone buzzed. A message from herself, timestamped tomorrow: “Don’t follow the girl in the yellow coat. She’s you.” r/chloesurreal
Chloe looked down. Her hands were translucent. Through them, she saw the floor — no, not a floor. A photograph of her childhood bedroom, burning slowly at the edges. Chloe ran downstairs
“You’re the dream I forgot to wake up from,” said the other Chloe. “And now we’re both late for a funeral that hasn’t happened yet.” she saw the floor — no