Gг©nг©rique Info

"The details," he said, gesturing to the smooth, featureless walls. "The scratches on the floor. The logos on the milk carton. The names of the streets. Everything here is just... a category."

The sky over the city was a flat, unrendered gray. There were no clouds, only the suggestion of them. In the city of Générique, every building was a perfect, windowless cube of brushed concrete. Every car was a matte-silver sedan with no brand name on the grill. GГ©nГ©rique

His wife gasped, pulling back as if he were holding a live coal. "Where did you get that? It’s... it’s specific." "The details," he said, gesturing to the smooth,

That night, Elias didn't sleep. He watched the digital clock on the bedside table. It didn't tick; it simply changed from to 02:01 in a sterile glow. The names of the streets

Elias sat at his kitchen table, eating from a box labeled . It tasted of toasted grain and nothing else. He looked at his wife, who was wearing a DRESS (BLUE) .

He realized then that they weren't living in a world; they were living in a draft. They were the placeholders, the "Insert Character Here" of a story that hadn't been written yet.

His wife looked up. Her face was symmetrical and pleasant, the kind of face you forget the moment you turn away. "The real what, Elias?"