Devoid

“I want to report a murder.” The officer didn’t look up. “Whose?” “Mine.” The rhythmic buzz of the ceiling fan filled the silence before the officer finally raised his eyes. “Are you drunk?” “No. And I know how this sounds, but I’m not losing my mind,” the man whispered, leaning closer. “I am about to disappear.” Setting his pen down, the officer sighed. “Start from the beginning.” “It started a month ago. Stuck in traffic and late for a quarterly meeting, I called our receptionist to apologize. The woman laughed, assuming it was a prank, and confirmed I was already there. Attendance marked. System logged in. Hot coffee on my desk.” “And where were you?” “Still on the highway. Arriving two hours later, I was greeted by a wave of congratulations. Apparently, ‘I’ had knocked the presentation out of the park. My manager was thrilled. A colleague clapped my shoulder, mentioning I hadn't been this cheerful in months. Asking who exactly they had been talking to only earned me more laught...