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Week passes. Maybe more. Time strange now.

Girlfriend stopped calling. Bob stopped talking.

Just me and images. Many projects. Many clicks.

Clock lost meaning. Calendar confusing now.

Each morning same. Each night same.

Bathroom mirror shows different person.

Face thinner. Hair messy. Eyes dark.

Don't recognize self anymore.

Office becomes whole world now.

Desk is home. Chair is bed.

Screen is window to reality.

Only reality that matters anyway.

Boss seems concerned sometimes. Walks by.

Looks at me. Shakes head.

Brings water sometimes. Plastic cup.

Drink without tasting. Just fuel now.

Body just machine for clicking.

Machine breaking down though. Parts failing.

Hands shake more. Eyes burn constantly.

Brain plays tricks. Sees things moving.

Or maybe not tricks. Maybe truth.

Maybe screen showing real secrets now.

Current task: Vacation resort. Palm trees. Happy couple.

Type words. Image appears. Palm trees bent wrong.

Fix trees. Now couple looks strange. Man's smile wrong.

Type new words. Fix man. Woman's hair floats unnaturally.

Click regenerate. Again. Again. Nothing perfect.

Each click feels heavier now.

Finger hurts from pressing button.

Worn spot on mouse. Plastic thin.

Keyboard letters fading away too.

Most used keys disappearing first.

Like screen eating the letters.

Taking them into digital world.

Resort image shouldn't be hard.

Simple vacation scene. Happy place.

But nothing works right anymore.

Colors seem wrong everywhere now.

Too bright. Too violent. Too alive.

Resort water moves like breathing.

Waves pulse like heartbeats.

Sand looks like crawling insects.

Look away. Look back. Normal again.

But only temporarily. Movement continues.

Screen playing games with me.

Testing my perception. My sanity.

Know what it's doing. Can't stop.

Palm trees whisper now. Hear them through screen.

"Never right. Never good. Keep clicking."

Shake head. Trees can't talk. Must be tired.

Type more words. "NORMAL RESORT. HAPPY PEOPLE."

New image. Better trees. Couple smiling right.

Whispers get louder each day.