**Title: *Plastic Dreams***
---
In the heart of suburbia, where every street looked the same, a haze of monotony settled like dust on an abandoned attic. Rows of identical houses lined up like soldiers, each with its perfect lawn, the artificial green blades swaying in the artificial breeze. The air was thick with the scent of synthetic fertilizer, masking the scent of something far more sinister.
Elliot knew something was wrong the day the birds stopped singing. It wasn’t a gradual thing, like in the city where nature is slowly choked by smog and noise. No, here in Pinecrest Estates, the silence fell overnight, a heavy blanket that smothered the world.
He noticed it first when he stepped out for his morning jog. The usual chatter of robins and sparrows was replaced by an eerie stillness. As he ran, the taste of plastic lingered on his tongue, sour and unnatural. He passed by the sprawling malls that stretched on for miles, a labyrinth of consumerism where no one ever seemed to find what they were truly searching for. The streets were crowded with cops, their eyes hidden behind mirrored sunglasses, scanning, always scanning, for something no one could see.
Elliot couldn’t remember the last time he had felt anything real. His meals were packaged, processed, perfectly portioned; they all tasted like plastic. His friends spoke in recycled phrases, their conversations scripted by the commercials that played on endless loops in their living rooms. Even the air he breathed seemed to be filtered through some unseen machine, devoid of any life.
But it wasn’t until he saw the first body that he realized what was happening.
He was driving home late from work, the neon glow of the malls illuminating the dark sky. He turned a corner and there, on the sidewalk, lay a man, his face pale, eyes wide open. He looked like he had been drained of everything that made him human. His clothes were pristine, his hair neatly combed, but his skin… his skin had a plastic sheen to it, almost as if he had become one of the mannequins that lined the storefronts.
Elliot slammed on the brakes, but no one else stopped. Cars drove by as if nothing was out of the ordinary, their drivers staring straight ahead, unblinking. The cops on the corner didn’t move, didn’t even look at the body. They just stood there, watching Elliot, their hands resting on their holsters.
Panic bubbled up inside him, a foreign feeling that he had almost forgotten. He fumbled for his phone, his hands shaking as he dialed 911. The line rang once, then a cold, automated voice answered: “We’re sorry, all circuits are busy. Please try again later.”
The line went dead.
Elliot threw his phone down, his heart racing. He glanced back at the man on the sidewalk, but he was gone. In his place was a neatly dressed mannequin, lying on the concrete, its plastic eyes staring blankly at the sky.
Suburban death. Endless malls. Cops on every block. Taste of plastic in every meal.
The words echoed in his mind as he sped home, his thoughts racing. This wasn’t just a feeling anymore. Something was killing them, turning them into… things.
The next morning, he packed a bag. He didn’t know where he was going, just that he needed to leave. As he drove out of Pinecrest Estates, he noticed more mannequins on the sidewalks, in front of houses, inside cars. The cops were still there, watching, waiting.
As he crossed the town’s border, the taste of plastic faded from his mouth, replaced by the crisp, clean air of the countryside. The further he drove, the more the world seemed to come alive again. Birds sang, trees swayed in the wind, and the sun felt warm and real on his skin.
But as he glanced in the rearview mirror, he saw the darkness of suburbia trailing behind him, a creeping, consuming void. And he knew, deep down, that it was only a matter of time before it caught up with him.
Because in a world made of plastic, nothing real can last forever.
(Care of ChatGPT)
