The air tastes like dry marble.
For a moment I think the text will end where it always ends.
I look for the sentence.
It isn’t there.
I keep reading.
I check the last paragraph again.
Nothing.
For months it was always there.
The only constant.
The rope.
The lime.
The drift.
And at the end:
I have to move my neck.
Not this time.
I look at the bottom margin of the document.
There is a new note.
I don’t remember seeing it before.
I don’t remember writing it either.
The note contains a single line.
“You already noticed its absence.”
I remain still.
Not because of the rope.
Because of the sentence.
Because it is right.
I reached the end only to check whether it was still there.
I scroll back to the beginning.
I start reading the document again.
Looking for the exact moment when it disappeared.
Then I find something worse.
There is no reference to the neck anywhere in the document.
Not a single one.
Impossible.
I remember reading it.
I remember expecting it.
I remember growing tired of seeing it.
But the file does not contain it.
I scroll downward.
The note has changed.
Now it says:
“You don’t remember it because you read it.
You remember it because you were already looking for it.”
Below it, a folder appears that was not there a few seconds ago.
BEFORE READING THIS.
I open it.
Inside is a screenshot.
I immediately recognize the lime room.
I recognize the document.
I recognize the cursor.
The timestamp is tomorrow.
The screenshot shows this very file already open.
The difference is that there is one more page.
A page that does not exist yet.
I have to move my neck…
