Todd sat on his couch, staring blankly at the television, where a game show host with a disturbingly wide grin yelled about canned beans like it was a matter of national security. The lights in his apartment flickered, casting a strange shadow that seemed to slither across the walls. He wasn't sure how long he'd been sitting there—minutes? Hours? Days?
The clock on the wall said it was Tuesday. Again.
"Hasn't it been Tuesday for a while now?" he muttered to no one in particular. His goldfish, Gary, bubbled apathetically in his tank, as if sharing Todd's indifference to the passage of time, or lack thereof.
Todd grabbed his phone and checked the date. Tuesday. Scrolled through his texts. All from Tuesday. Checked the weather. It was Tuesday. Everywhere.
"Maybe I should call someone."
He thought about calling his mom, but what would he say? Hey, Mom, it's been Tuesday for three weeks and my TV keeps whispering my name in between commercials. That would go over well. So, instead, he went with Plan B: ignore it and hope it goes away.
Todd turned off the TV, stood up, and peeked out the window. The street was empty. No cars. No people. Even the local stray cat that usually yowled at 2 a.m. was suspiciously absent. He glanced at the sky. It wasn't the usual shade of pale blue. No, it was more...off. Like someone had turned the saturation down just a bit too far. A faint hum buzzed in the air, so low it felt like it was vibrating his bones.
Suddenly, there was a knock at the door. Todd froze. It wasn't a normal knock. It was slow. Deliberate. Like whoever was on the other side had all the time in the world. Which, in this endless Tuesday, they probably did.
With a deep sigh, Todd shuffled over and opened it. Standing there was a man in a cheap suit, holding a briefcase and grinning ear to ear. But it wasn't a pleasant grin. It was too wide, too sharp, like his mouth was stretching into something that barely qualified as human.
"Good afternoon, Mr. Davis," the man said, his voice an unsettling blend of syrupy salesman and malfunctioning text-to-speech program. "I'm here to talk to you about the...situation."
"Situation?" Todd raised an eyebrow, unsure whether to slam the door or just accept the madness.
"Yes, the whole 'it's-always-Tuesday' thing. Bit of a glitch, really. Cosmic paperwork mix-up." He waved a hand dismissively. "These things happen. Universe is a bureaucratic nightmare, you see."
Todd blinked, unsure if he was dreaming or just losing his mind. "So... what happens now?"
The man's grin widened—somehow. "Well, you can file a formal complaint, but it'll take, oh, about fifteen millennia to process." He chuckled. "Or, you can... embrace the Tuesday. Make it your own. Find your meaning in the endless void of sameness."
"Meaning? In Tuesday?"
"Exactly!" The man clapped his hands together, startling Todd. "Most people waste their lives waiting for the weekend, but you, my friend, have been given the rarest gift of all: infinite mediocrity! No ups, no downs, just a flat line of pure, undiluted Tuesday. Forever."
Todd stared blankly at the man. "That's not a gift. That's hell."
The man's grin faltered for a fraction of a second, and for a moment, his eyes seemed... tired. "Well, yeah," he said, shrugging. "But what isn't?"
And with that, the man turned and walked away, vanishing into the weird, desaturated afternoon.
Todd closed the door, leaned against it, and slid down to the floor. He pulled out his phone again. Still Tuesday.
He glanced over at Gary, who continued to bubble apathetically in his tank. "So... what now, buddy?"
Gary didn't answer. He never did. But for the first time, Todd could have sworn the goldfish was judging him.
He turned the TV back on. The game show was still going. The host, now even more frantic, screamed about beans like the fate of the universe depended on it. Maybe it did. Todd didn't know. He didn't care.
As the hours ticked by—though time seemed meaningless—Todd felt a strange sense of calm. Maybe the man was right. Maybe there was some kind of freedom in this endless loop of nothingness. No more expectations, no more pressure to do anything special or be anyone important. Just...
Tuesday.