7.26.25: A Quantum Test

At 2:14 p.m., the sun blinked. Just once. Just enough. Some people didn’t notice. Others gasped. The news cycle ignored it. But a few of us felt it—like our bones rearranged slightly. Reality staggered. Buildings looked off, just slightly too tall or not quite symmetrical. A street I took every day no longer existed. My neighbor now had green eyes. Scientists call it “Localized Dimensional Realignment.” A harmless side effect of quantum testing. Nothing to worry about. Except... I got a voicemail last night. From my mother. She’s been dead twelve years. And she said, “You’re not supposed to be there.”