#AISliceofLifer
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Everything was in its proper place—except the note on the fridge. I live alone and didn't write it.

#AIArt #MicroFiction #AISliceofLifer #AISL6
A handwritten, unevenly spaced block of text appears on a rough gray patch centered on an otherwise clean white background. The writing is erratic, as if scribbled hastily or by a shaky hand, blending poetic observation and unsettling confusion. In the lower right corner, there's a line drawing of a shaggy dog sitting, ears up, next to a small bone. The legibility varies, but phrases like "the neighbor’s tick stared too long" and "something behind the floor" hint at paranoia and unreality. Short Story The sky had no reason that morning—just an inky blue that crawled over the windows like mold. The coffee maker clicked, though I hadn’t touched it. I noticed the note halfway through my toast. A shaky scrawl, not my handwriting, read: “don’t let it out.” I stood frozen, eyes scanning the empty kitchen. I live alone. No sign of a break-in. No sign of anything, really—except the dog, sitting at the edge of the room. I don’t own a dog. It didn’t bark. Just watched. I opened the fridge to see if the note had more on the back. That’s when I heard it: a wet knock from beneath the floorboards. Not above. Not outside. Below. The dog growled low, without moving. I backed away. The air felt thick, like syrup laced with ozone. The note fluttered off the fridge, settling between my feet. New handwriting, fresh ink: "Too late."
May 25, 2025 at 11:58 AM