In this world, everyone eats pastel-coloured sweets and the table is always impeccably set.
Every day is sunny.
But if it rains, there are beautiful, grey constellations on the window and nobody is really sad.
Every day is a flash of white teeth and sparkling eyes, throwing arms around friends and laughing at inside jokes.
Every day is a good hair day.
But if you look a little closer, the edges are blurred and someone has changed the colour of the sky.
Look closely at those smiles and you’ll see it:
The eyes dart back and forth,
fingers moving at a rapid pace.
You’ll hear a quiet voice repeating:
"delete. delete. delete."
This world is only half-formed.
It’s a museum with dimly lit hallways, where an anxious curator awaits you in every room, always hanging up another painting, dusting off another artefact.
"Do you like it?" She will ask you.
“How about this one?”
Her hands tremble almost imperceptibly.
Of course you like it. Or at least, you think so.
But still, you can’t help but wonder what happens when the lights go out and the guests go home for the day.
Do they go home too?
Or do they sit in the dark, surrounded by their treasures, afraid to leave the comfort of those four, symmetrical walls?