(A click, followed by the tinny, slightly distorted voice of a person who sounds profoundly winded.) —Hello? Is this… is this the designated recipient? Look, I don’t have much time. You know what time it is. It’s barely Tuesday, but I can already feel the pull. The edge. (The sound of the receiver momentarily skipping, causing the voice to stutter and repeat the word "edge" three times.) —Please, just… don’t let it get close. Wednesday. It’s too much. It’s always too much. It’s like it’s got too many angles, you know? It’s sharp. It’s going to cut everything. (The background noise of the voicemail begins to warp, cycling rapidly through frequencies that sound like a clock mechanism running too fast, then suddenly slowing to a deep, wet thrum. Visually, the phone screen appears to ripple, as if viewed through hot air, and the numbers on the caller ID flicker backward—12/31, 12/30, 12/29—before snapping back to a steady, meaningless sequence.) —It’s not right. It’s never right. You need to—you need to brace for the shift. Don’t look at the middle. Just keep it simple. Just keep it… Tuesday. Please. I’m warning you. I’m warning you. (The voice drops to a desperate whisper, and the entire message abruptly cuts out, leaving only a high-pitched, sustained whine that decays into silence.)
static · uneasy