The End of Pseudo-Dark Night

At half past seven in the morning, the alarm clock chimed as usual. Mom was smiling in the kitchen—the curve of her mouth was so precise that it chilled my heart. In the reflection of the window, there is another "me" standing. At the corner of the street, the "neighbors" slowly turned their heads, their gray eyes shining with a needle-like light. The world learned to pretend overnight. They are covered in familiar human skins, with stiff smiles on their faces, whispering in the shadows where the sun cannot shine: "The next one... Is you."