The figure in the red coat turned their head just enough to catch the edge of a profile, but before the face was revealed, the video glitched. Bright green digital artifacts streaked across the screen, and the audio turned into a harsh electronic hum. Elias checked the timestamp: .
He closed his eyes and tried to remember where he was that Tuesday. He searched his old calendars and emails, but December 3rd was a blank. No appointments, no sent messages. It was as if that specific minute had been edited out of his life, leaving only this 12-second clip as evidence. VID_20201203_134436_611mp4
When he clicked play, the image didn't immediately appear. There was only the sound of heavy wind and the rhythmic thwack-thwack of a flag hitting a pole. Then, the camera stabilized. The figure in the red coat turned their
The lens was pointed at a park bench dusted with light snow. A person sat there, back to the camera, wearing a bright red coat that cut through the gray afternoon like a signal fire. They were holding something small—a bird, maybe, or a handwritten note. He closed his eyes and tried to remember
The person filming was wearing a jacket he didn't own, standing in a park he didn't recognize, speaking with a voice that sounded like his own but carried a weight he hadn't felt yet.
He played it again, and again, and again. On the tenth loop, he noticed something in the bottom corner of the frame. Reflected in a frozen puddle near the bench was the person holding the phone. It wasn't Elias.