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“You stood right there,” I told him, pointing at the kitchen doorway. “Barefoot. Shirt inside out. You kept saying you’d figured it out and that nobody was listening because we were too close to hear.”

Henry initiated resonance through prolonged empathic focus. Sherrie applied coherence constraints that prevented natural decay. The mirror began metabolizing abandoned decision-trees, converting unused futures into self-sustaining pattern.

The panel flickered. Just once. Lily noticed because she always noticed small things—timing errors, mismatched seams, the way the city sometimes seemed to breathe when it thought no one was paying attention.

A Catholic confessional booth, massive and dark, carved mahogany polished smooth by hands that no longer existed. It sat absurdly at the center of the platform, unmarked, intact, as if it had simply been placed there.

Dead things on the ranch don't degrade. Ben Woodruff wants to know why.

Blending science-fiction punk, dystopian noir, and metaphysical unease, Erase My Head is a story about identity, control, and what it means to awaken inside a reality designed to keep you asleep.