Андрей Шеньшаков
I stood in the kitchen paralyzed by indecision. The mixing bowl was in front of me, the milk, eggs, and flour next to it, all of them individually as familiar as they had been a moment before, but now the possibilities for their combination were just too great. Breakfast was now an alien fractal intruding on our world like the lighthouse at the end of Annihilation. The thoughts came unbidden.
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