As the sun sinks lower in the sky, a golden glow envelops the park and reflects off the river, casting everything in amber.
“It’s surreal, isn’t it?” Max asks, half expecting an answer.
Alex sits on a simple wooden bench, running his fingers over the carvings etched into its surface. His eyes gaze over a pair of initials in a jagged heart.
Max turns toward Alex with a snap-like movement. "Are you even listening?"
Alex blinks twice. For a moment, he forgot Max was there. "Yes, surreal.” A grin spreads across his face. “But isn’t it all? I mean, do you ever think about how none of this is real?"
Max furrows his brow in confusion. "What do you mean?"
"I mean, there's no proof," Alex presses on. "Everything I perceive—sights, sounds, feelings—they're all just my brain processing electrical signals in total darkness. You, me, this conversation, even this park, even the sun—it’s all just a construct of my mind. There's no evidence that any of it truly exists."
Max sighs and shakes his head dismissively. "You've been watching too many sci-fi films."
“No, hear me out,” Alex persists, his grin softening. "I've been pondering this for some time now. I have no proof that you’re real. You could be a figment of my imagination. A character in my own personal movie. A mere hologram." He pauses at his realization. "You only exist because I’m perceiving you."
Max laughs nervously. He’s now the other side of Alex. “You sound like you’ve lost it. I’m sitting right here, man. Talking to you. Of course I’m real.”
“Alright, but if I close my eyes and cover my ears, are you still there?”
“Of course.”
“Are you? How do I know that? When I’m not directly observing you, you’re nothing but a thought, so how do I know you’re anything but a thought right now?”
Max’s cheeks are flushed. “Because I’m right fucking in front of you.”
Alex slowly runs a hand over his stubble.
Max pokes him on the arm. “You feel that?” He pokes him again. “That’s me… Because I’m real.”
“Yes, I felt that. I’m experiencing a feeling, but that doesn’t mean you’re real. It just means my brain is interpreting signals sent by my skin.”
“Sent by me, asshole.”
“According to my perception, sure. Without my perception, there would be no you, and there would be no touch.”
“Cool. What’s your point?” He digs a nail into the cuticle of his thumb.
“My brain is running all this on autopilot—light, noise, touch—it’s all just data my mind processes to create this experience. This movie that’s unfolding in front of me. You could just be part of the script.”
Max shifts uncomfortably. “That’s ridiculous. I’ve known you for years. We’ve been friends since high school. What kind of ‘script’ are you talking about?”
“Exactly. You’ve been in this script for a while.” Alex’s voice softens, his eyes gleaming. “It’s all a script. Reality is a movie playing out, and I’m the observer. Maybe you’re a supporting actor. Maybe you’re just a glitch. Whatever it is, there’s no way for me to prove you exist outside of my perception.”
Max scoots forward. “Well, there’s no way for me to know you exist outside of mine. Maybe you’re my creation. Ever think about that?”
“That is exactly what a hologram would say if it didn’t want to be discovered.”
Max’s face hardens, his eyes glassy. His voice begins to choke. “What the hell, Alex? So, I’m just some figment of your imagination now?”
Alex shrugs, almost serenely. “Maybe.”
“You’re a real asshole, you know that?”
“At least I’m real.” Alex jests.
“That’s not funny.”
“Oh, come on.”
“Nothing about this is funny. You’ve gone off the deep end, man.”
Alex picks a piece of lint off his shirt. “Here’s the deal. You’re in my imagination, and you don’t like that I realized it. The illusion is crumbling, and you’re fighting to hold on. You’re trying to make it seem like I’m crazy. You’re trying to make me doubt myself. Guess what? It ain’t gonna work. I won’t be gaslit by an actor in my own movie.”
Max is standing now. He points at Alex. “Fuck you. You think you can just dismiss me like that? You think you’re the center of the entire universe, don’t you? I’ve been your friend for years and now it’s like I don’t even matter? Screw that.”
Alex remains seated, unbothered by Max’s rising anger. “I didn’t say you don’t matter. You matter… to me, at least. But does that make you real?”
Max clenches his fists, shaking his head in disbelief. “You’re insane,” he mutters.
Without another word, Max storms off, his footsteps silent across the gravel path.
Alex watches him go, as if observing a scene from a play.
He glimpses at a bird flying overhead.
He looks back.
Just like that, Max is gone.
“Maybe,” Alex says under his breath. “Maybe.”
A curious calm settles over him. He ponders the way Max vanished so abruptly, like a character exiting a stage—it leaves a strange feeling in the air. Alex gazes at the ground, trying to replay the last few moments in his head, the only place they exist. There is no evidence of what just happened. No lingering traces of seconds ago. Just an odd, hollow silence and a memory.
Alex shakes his head and chuckles softly to himself. Maybe he was right all along. Maybe Max was just a projection, a character in a movie that had played its role. Maybe the illusion of Max dissolved to avoid being exposed.
Or maybe he vanished because I no longer believed he was real.
Or maybe, maybe I’m just an asshole losing his grip on reality… and his friends.
With that, Alex stands up, shakily, glancing around. His amusement has faded. He feels lonelier, emptier than ever before. A pit forms behind his belly button. His chest tightens. An eerie stillness has spread over the park, as if the whole world has paused, waiting for him to make the next move.
He asks to no one in particular, “If none of you are real, then who else is there?”
He shouts this time. “Who else is there?”
Just then, a voice cuts through the quiet. “You good?”
He spins around, taken aback. His colleague, Lanza, is strolling toward him from across the park, his hand lifted in a relaxed wave.
Alex offers a polite smile but feels a deep sense of unease. Lanza's perfectly timed arrival is unsettling. The way his voice shattered the stillness and interrupted his thoughts. It feels like the next scene of a movie has suddenly started playing. Like the film reel switched before the previous one had finished.
“Hey, man,” Lanza says, stopping in front of him. “You doing okay? You looked a little lost over here”
For a moment, Alex simply gazes at him, like someone trying to steady themselves after losing their footing. “Yeah,” he finally says, though he isn’t sure. “Just thinking.”
Lanza grins. “Thinking, huh? Better not think too much. You might lose track of what’s real.”
Alex laughs sheepishly. He can’t shake the thought. Is Lanza real? Or is he just another character stepping in to fill the void Max left behind?
The whole world feels like it’s fraying at the edges, a dream on the verge of collapsing.
But maybe that’s the truth. Maybe none of it had ever been real. Maybe, I’m waking up.
Alex walks alongside Lanza, both their shadows become one in the setting sun. The river, the park, Lanza’s voice—all of it seems to blur together, like a projection running out of focus.
And as they stroll along, Alex can’t help but wonder: If this is all just a movie, had I ever been anything more than the audience? Am I just a spectator?
Or worse.
His stomach sinks.
Am I a character in someone else’s story?