FLASH FICTION NEO NOIR SURREALISM

I Left My House for the First Time in Weeks. The Missing Posters Had My Face on Them.

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The cold air hit my skin like a dry frigged slap. My legs felt stiffer than before, like they had forgotten how to carry me. Like rigor mortis had set in. I limped to the corner store, past familiar streets that somehow felt distant and hollow.

That’s when I saw them. Stapled to light poles, taped to windows, fluttering on bulletin boards. MISSING. My name. My face. The words blurred in front of me. Last seen weeks ago. Family desperate for answers. Call if you have any information.

I turned, expecting to see someone staring, waiting for me to explain. But the street was empty. No gasps. No recognition. Just a quiet, yawning absence, like the world had already forgotten me.

I checked my phone. The screen flashed, then the phone powered on with an unexpected, robotic chime — “Hello Moto.” No missed calls, no messages. My own number had been disconnected.

Then I noticed the dates. The posters were old. Weeks old. Someone should have taken them down.

I turned back toward my house, my breath quickening. Had I ever really left at all?

The moment I stepped back inside, something felt wrong. The air was thick and stale. I reached for the light, but the bulb only flickered, barely holding on. When I managed a step, the floor…