Author Note:
This story is currently undergoing some refinement. I'll be rewriting all chapters leading up to Chapter 20. I have gained new ideas, which would, unfortunately, make a lot of what has been stated previously completely irrelevant.
As the wise Dao seniors would say. "Your foundation is lacking." Or some bullshit like that.
This junior will now enter secluded cultivation.
;)
Note that this story will probably make zero sense during the time of editing. So I recommend holding off on rereading of this story until the completion notice.
{To fill up the word count}
I woke up with soup in my lungs again. Not metaphorically. Cream of mushroom, I think. The flavour whispered something about Tuesday, but it's Sunday. I'm not sure where the extra days are going. Probably the same place where keys vanish.
The ceiling has grown teeth again. Not human ones. Too sharp, too opinionated. They click when I breathe wrong, so I try not to breathe at all. Last time I exhaled too hard, they bit off Wednesday. Now, everyone pretends it never existed.
My roommate is a turnip named Elijah. He says I need to stop feeding the clocks. But if I don't, how will they stay on time? Time is hungry, and I'm not a monster.
"2578. Time for your meds."
I don't know who 2578 is, but I always take their food. I think it's the neighbourly thing to do. I don't like it, though. It tastes like children, nobody likes children.
"From a scale of one to triangle, what's your favourite colour of the alphabet? I like 6 and 7, and maybe tiger."
I wonder who said that? Was it tomorrow?
Must be.
"I pick watermelon."