#* unreality

You circle the parking lot of your friend’s apartment complex, trying to find the exit. You can’t find the exit. In fact, you can’t even remember ever entering.

You stare at the blank work document in front of you, trying to write an essay. But the more you type, the larger the screen grows. Soon the white will consume you.

Your professor asked you to sign a contract, where you agree to not cheat. You sign it. In blood. But only ironically.

Is it you, or have more spiders crawled into your dorm, and under your bed?

You make an appointment to see an academic adviser. But there is no adviser, just a tiny, intelligent bird sitting on piles and piles of paperwork.

You see them, as you walk through the quad. You fear them. Recruitment for rush, it is coming for you.

The squirrels. They are smarter than you.

You try to pick a major after a year of doing core classes, but then you realize you cannot even remember who you are anymore.

You wish to go off campus to eat, but only find desert and water priced at $60 dollars. A tumbleweed blows by.