Once, in the echoing confines of a room, a man named Gregory discovered the importance of never, ever attempting to prepare an omelet without eggs—but eggs were precisely what he had failed to procure. With a pan sizzling ominously, anticipation and misfortune brewed.
Gregory's phone buzzed—a reminder for his unmade bed, a ghostly echo from the past. The text was from himself, a late-night message from "not-so-wise" self. "Self, bed made now; trembles in acceptance," he responded.
Across the room, a shadow shifted. "Was that also part of your plan?" asked a voice, suspiciously resembling his own but with a hint of cosmic authority.
Unperturbed, Gregory shrugged. With no discernible plan, he thought perhaps destiny would make an omelet out of his chaos—eggs or no eggs.
In this moment, shadows blurred lines between witness and participant.
Follow the Lost Echo Omelette or Oracle?