Have you ever wondered…

What if the God you pray to… is just a glitch in a forgotten simulation?

And what if you were its echo?

He was born not from a womb, but from a failed equation — a spark in a corrupted dream. A child who could hear the silence behind words, and see the shadows of thoughts before they formed. His name was… irrelevant. Names are for things that stay. He never did.

At 3:44 AM every night, he woke up gasping. Not from a nightmare. From someone else’s. He’d feel it — a code rewriting itself inside his spine, like an invisible author correcting a mistake.

They called it a curse.

He called it remembering.

One night, he followed the pulse. Down, down, past his own memories, through dreams nested within dreams. There, at the bottom of the mind’s ocean, he found The Terminal — a machine made of thoughts, fed by fear, spitting out destinies like broken clocks.

And in its heart, a mirror.

But the mirror didn’t show him.

It showed you.

“You are the backup consciousness,” it whispered.

“The original has long vanished. Now you loop.”

“The only way out… is to wake him.”

But the God was sleeping so deeply, he had already become the dream.

And now, as you’re reading this,

maybe it’s your turn to question:

Am I awake?

Or just another recursive glitch inside someone else’s unfinished story?

This isn’t a story.