It's 4 AM. Mac wakes up abruptly—the third night in a row. Another bizarre dream. He reaches for his phone, scrambling to document it before the details fade. This time, he remembers visiting an ancient ruin. Inside, he saw well-preserved fossils, so lifelike they looked frozen in time. One, in particular, caught his attention—a fossilized ape perched atop a tree, its fur shimmering in shades of brown and emerald red. The entrance to the ruin was littered with gems and tools, hinting that someone—something—had once lived there, perhaps thousands or even millions of years ago.
Mac finishes writing. It's now 4:45 AM, but he can't shake the hyper-reality of his dreams. He tries to go back to sleep, but his body is buzzing—a strange vibration, as if his soul is struggling to merge back with his body after a long journey apart. Eventually, exhaustion wins, and he drifts off.
At 8 AM, he's jolted awake again. His roommate, Balmain, stands over him, shaking his shoulder.
"Time for class, bro."
Mac groans. He hates being woken up. Sleep is the only place where he finds true comfort. After three more sluggish rolls in bed, he finally gets up and prepares for another day of total madness—a day that feels so repetitive it's like a loop.
Mac is in class now, but his mind is elsewhere—drifting through space, piecing together the fragments of his scattered thoughts. He tries to stay present, but reality keeps slipping through his fingers. It's Wednesday—two more days until the weekend, the brief window of freedom before another week of dread, sorrow, and scattered moments of happiness.
Half of the class takes place on another plane of existence—inside his mind. His closed eyes become a gateway to visions of New York's towering skyscrapers, the scorching sands of the Sahara, the freezing depths of the Atlantic. So many places. All at once.
"Is this a gift or a curse?" he asks himself daily. He can't seem to grasp one reality before another takes over.
After a long day, Mac returns to his apartment, where he lives with his two best friends—Balmain and Alexander.
Balmain is the funniest guy alive, a walking comedy show who could knock you out with his jokes and over-the-top dramatization. They'd often make silly faces and crack jokes that left everyone gasping for air. Alexander, on the other hand, is a genius—the analytical mind of their trio. Together, they create a chaotic balance of laughter, intellect, and madness.
"Today was crazy," Mac says, slumping onto the couch. He tells them how he couldn't keep his mind in one place during class. His friends aren't surprised. They've heard about his experiences before.
Balmain smirks. "Not as crazy as you, Mac."
Laughter fills the room. Hours pass, lost in conversation. Eventually, Mac retreats to his room, eager for sleep.
Balmain hands Mac a small bag of shrooms one night, grinning mischievously.
"Bro, this might help you put everything together," he says.
Mac hesitates, then takes them. A deep part of him is desperate for clarity, to finally link his dreams, thoughts, and reality into one cohesive truth.
As the shrooms take effect, time begins to fracture. He hears a voice whisper:
"Art is not meant to be interrupted—sometimes it's meant to be observed."
The world around him warps and bends. The room pulses with energy, and suddenly—he's not in his apartment anymore. He's floating.
A deep paranoia creeps in. He feels like something—someone—is watching him. His vision blurs, colors stretch, and then—he wakes up in the past.
But this time, he knows everything that's going to happen.