Day 2: Signs in the Everyday

Sally ate breakfast out on the terrace.
On the table, a still-warm mug and her notebook lay open.
On her phone screen, the accident video played once more.

She paused it. Rewound.
Watched again.

She took notes between small sips of coffee, stopping at details almost too subtle to name.

“This… could mean something,” she murmured.

She planned to share her thoughts in the forum later.
She wouldn’t be streaming for two days, so she needed to pre-record some gameplay.
The channel couldn’t stop.

In the afternoon, she went to pick up a package she had been waiting on for weeks.

She walked quickly, almost nervous.
When she finally had it in her hands, her eyes brightened.

It was a plushie of one of her favorite anime characters.

She placed it carefully in her backpack,
as if it were something fragile.

On the way back, she bought curry and headed home.

While eating in front of her monitor, she opened the group chat.
The conversation was heated—everyone talking about the accident video.

Endless theories.
Science, superstition, speculation.

Then someone wrote:

Did you see the new post in the group?

Most replied they hadn’t.

Sally opened the link.

The title read:

“It happened again.”

The video showed a boy recording his friend during sleep paralysis.
The room was small.
The monitor cast a pale blue light across the bed.

His friend slept.
Everything seemed normal.

Until something began to separate from his body.

An energy.
Gently floating above him.
Connected by thin, nearly invisible threads.
As if it was still part of him… but not in the same place.

After a few seconds, the energy slipped back into his body.

The boy woke up with a start.
Both of them sat in silence.
Afraid.

End of video.

The chat exploded:

“It looks like the accident.”

“No, it’s different.”

“The energy in the accident was unstable.”

“In this one, it’s soft… defined.”

“What even is it?”

“The soul?”

“Consciousness?”

“The shadow of life?”

Sally typed:

“It could be related to death… or the soul.”

No one replied for several seconds.
Then the discussion resumed—louder, faster.

But Sally was already thinking of something else:

Both manifestations happened in completely ordinary moments.
No preparation.
No warning signs.
No intent.

They just… happened.

She closed her notebook.

“I can’t think of anything,” she whispered.

She lay down on her bed.
Stared at the ceiling.

“Tomorrow,” she exhaled.
“Tomorrow will be different.”

The room was quiet.

And with that, the day ended.