The Thin Divide

#ReedsyTalk

It all started with a room—or a wall, more precisely. A thin one, in fact, one as thin as a person could hear. Barely more than a few layers of plaster, the faint vibrations of voices bleeding through its seams. At first, she thought it was the wind. Then, slowly, she began to pick up words: “She ... .danger…fall”. That is what she could hear, what did they mean by “danger”? And more importantly who were they talking about. 

Maybe, we should start from the very beginning, where the voices behind the wall were still silent. Back then, everything seemed ordinary—too ordinary, in fact, as if she were simply 

going through the motions of a life that hadn’t yet started to unravel.

Get up, get ready, eat, go to work, study, return, sleep, and repeat. Over and over again, all year round. This was Emily’s life—a repetitive dance of monotonous actions. One step to the right, never a thought of going left, only right. But if she keeps turning to the right, wouldn’t she eventually stumble into the right wall?"

She did. The wall appeared suddenly one evening, just as she was about to make another turn to the right—something felt different. The familiar hum of the routine stopped. Her body stiffened in confusion. Was this part of the cycle? Had she missed a step?

But the wall wasn’t just an obstacle—it was an end. The wall pulsed with a strange, faint glow, almost as if it were alive. Her hand reached out without thinking, touching it. A wave of cold flooded through her, but when she pulled her hand back, it was like the world around her had frozen. She could still hear the clock ticking, but everything else was... still. No movement, no sound. Just silence.

In the quiet, Emily became aware of something else. A low murmur, like voices from behind a door she couldn’t open. They were discussing her, and her life. And then, the pieces started to fit together.

She wasn’t just caught in a cycle. She was watching her own life play out on a screen, over and over again, and had been doing so for what felt like forever. This wasn’t just a wall. It was a barrier, between the world she thought she knew and a reality she had long forgotten.

She did. The wall appeared suddenly one evening, just as she was about to make another turn to the right—something felt different. The familiar hum of the routine stopped. Her body stiffened in confusion. Was this part of the cycle? Had she missed a step?"

But the wall wasn’t just an obstacle—it was an end. The wall pulsed with a strange, faint glow, almost as if it were alive. Her hand reached out without thinking, touching it. A wave of cold flooded through her, but when she pulled her hand back, it was like the world around her had frozen. She could still hear the clock ticking, but everything else was... still. No movement, no sound. Just silence.

In the quiet, Emily became aware of something else. A low murmur, like voices from behind a door she couldn’t open. They were discussing her, and her life. And then, the pieces started to fit together.

She wasn’t just caught in a cycle. She was watching her own life play out on a screen, over and over again, and had been doing so for what felt like forever. This wasn’t just a wall. It was a barrier, between the world she thought she knew and a reality she had long forgotten.

The voices behind the wall grew clearer, now unmistakably familiar. She recognized the tones. The murmurs weren’t whispers—they were fragments of conversations she'd had with people she knew. Family, friends, coworkers... even strangers. It was all there, replaying in snippets. But there was something unsettling in how they spoke about her, as though she were not in the room.

“She never really noticed, did she?” one voice asked, familiar but distant. It was her mother's voice.

“She was always so lost. She couldn’t even see what was right in front of her.” A cold, sharp voice now, one of her colleagues.

“I’m not sure she ever really lived, you know.” This one was her best friend, but it was spoken with a sad finality that hit her like a punch in the chest.

The voices continued, a broken record of judgment, memories, and moments she thought she had forgotten. They reflected her every flaw, her every missed opportunity, and every mistake she had ever made.

Emily’s breath quickened. Her pulse raced. “What is this?” she whispered aloud, but the words vanished into the thick silence. No one could hear her—because she wasn’t really there.

She reached for the wall again, this time desperately. As her fingers made contact, the wall seemed to shift. It no longer felt like cold stone, but a soft, almost liquid barrier. The pulsing glow intensified, and with a sudden, violent lurch, the wall seemed to open up—only to reveal a vast, dark emptiness.

This was not the world she had known. This was... somewhere else.

For a long moment, Emily stood frozen at the edge of the opening, unable to step forward. She didn’t know what she was seeing, but she knew instinctively that it was the truth. The truth about her life, and her death.

The cycle was over. She had crossed the threshold. The familiar hum of her life—those repetitive days, the endless motions of getting up, working, studying, and sleeping—had all been just... that. Movements, gestures, habits. All of it a projection of her past. A life replayed, over and over again, in some sort of purgatory she didn’t even realize she was in.

Suddenly, everything went quiet again. Not a sound. No voices, no time passing. Just... stillness.

Emily stepped forward into the void.

At first, there was nothing. Just the void, stretching out before her, endless and cold. But slowly, something began to take shape. A memory, maybe, or a dream. She was standing in a room, just like before. She could feel the air, the light in the space. She looked around and saw her reflection in a mirror hanging on the wall. But the reflection was different.

It was her, but not quite. It was her life, replaying, but this time, she could see things clearly. She could see the moments she had missed—the choices she hadn’t made, the people she had failed to notice. It wasn’t a projection anymore. It was real, a part of her that she had ignored. The truth of who she was, who she had been.

Her own life, staring back at her, not as a monotonous cycle, but as a series of choices, steps, and consequences. She understood now: she hadn’t been living, just existing. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn’t too late to find something more than this endless loop.

The reflection in the mirror smiled at her.

But as she reached out to touch it, the image began to fade.