I went to report my murder
At 2:13 a.m., a man walked into the police station with a blood-soaked notebook pressed against his chest. The constable behind the desk looked up. “I want to report a murder.” “Whose murder?” The notebook landed on the counter with a wet thud. “Mine.” For a few seconds, the ceiling fan did all the talking. “Wait a minute. What are you talking about? Are you drunk? High?” “No. And I know how this sounds. But I am not losing my mind.” “Then explain.” The man leaned closer. “I have less than an hour before the rest of me disappears.” That got the officer’s attention. “Disappears?” “It started a month ago. I was late for an office meeting, so I called reception and told them I would be there in two hours.” “And?” “She laughed. Thought I was joking. Apparently, I was already there. Attendance marked. System logged in. Coffee mug on my desk.” “And you believed that?” “No. That was my first mistake.” He reached the office expecting a prank. Instead, people congratulated him. The meeting had ...