Prompt:
Imagine sitting alone at a dim, eerie cafe—the kind where the shadows seem alive and the air feels heavy with unspoken secrets. You take a slow bite of your meal, trying to savor the moment, until something shifts. The texture is wrong. A chill creeps up your spine. Then it hits you—what you just tasted isn’t normal. Your stomach churns. Is it… a rat? The realization floods in like a wave crashing over, disgust and panic intertwining in your chest. Around you, the other diners’ faces become distorted, blurred, even grotesque—laughing, chewing, watching. Their features melt into madness. The room seems to close in. The clinking of forks, the hum of conversation—it all twists into a nightmare soundscape. You look down at your plate, and now you can see it clearly: fur, a tail, tiny teeth glistening between the vegetables. You freeze, breath shallow. Someone near you—faceless—says, “Eat it.” More voices join in, echoing, urging. A fork is placed in your trembling hand. You want to scream, but no sound comes out. Your voice is gone, swallowed by the bizarre. You stand, knocking over your chair, heart hammering in your chest, eyes darting from face to face—but they’re not faces anymore. Just shadows. Hollow. Watching. Judging. The walls pulsate as if alive, the ceiling drips some unknown liquid. You stagger back, dizzy, desperate to escape. But where is the door? The room stretches, warps, you’re caught in a dream that refuses to end. And then—silence. A black screen. A whisper. “Sometimes, the ordinary hides the monstrous.” You’re left breathless, wondering if it was real. Was it just a dream? Or a warning? So next time you find yourself dining alone, take a second look at your plate… and at the people around you. Because the line between normal and nightmare is often thinner than a fork’s edge. What’s your most surreal moment? Share your story, and if the bizarre fascinates you, subscribe for more unsettling tales. Until next time, stay curious—and watch what you eat.
Artist
