The Invisible Man

You wake up and something feels… off. Your room is the same—sunlight leaking through the blinds, the quiet hum of everything ordinary—but when you reach up to rub your eyes, there’s nothing there. No hand. No reflection in the mirror across the room. Just empty space where you should be. At first it’s panic. You move fast, knocking something over just to prove you’re still *there*. The sound is real. The world reacts. You exist—just… unseen. Then the realization settles in, slower, heavier. No one can judge you. No one can stop you. No one can even *see* you. It’s freedom, in a strange, unsettling way. But it’s also isolation. You could walk through a crowded street and no one would ever look your way. You could stand right next to someone and still be completely alone. So the question becomes: What do you do with that kind of invisibility—disappear completely, or find a way to matter anyway?