We Might As Well Be Dead

In a secluded forest clearing, a sleek high‑rise rises like a glass‑crowned sanctuary, its residents living behind a rhythm of shared celebrations and the gentle hum of communal life. The building’s design promises safety and harmony, its polished corridors and sunlit terraces framing a world that feels almost curated for peace. Yet beneath the polished surface, the very act of living so closely together keeps an undercurrent of quiet observation, a reminder that perfection can be as fragile as the glass that reflects it.

Anna serves as the building’s gatekeeper, a calm voice that drifts through the public‑address system with weather updates, notices, and the occasional reassurance. Her role blends the responsibilities of a security officer with the intimacy of a neighbor, making her both a guardian and a familiar presence in the lives of those she watches over. At home, she navigates the delicate balance of motherhood with her teenage daughter, Iris, whose restless curiosity often clashes with the orderly world her mother helps maintain.

When a beloved dog vanishes from the tranquil community, the incident ripples through the high‑rise like a sudden chill. What began as an everyday loss quickly morphs into an unsettling question that pries open the residents’ latent anxieties. Whispers travel the elevators, and the previously unshakable sense of safety begins to feel porous, hinting at the hidden tensions that have long lingered beneath the calm façade.

Against this backdrop, Anna finds herself striving to keep order as fear silently spreads, forcing her to confront the invisible cracks in the utopia she has helped to uphold. The situation tests her resolve, exposing how quickly a tightly knit enclave can turn inward, questioning the very foundations of trust, security, and the quiet certainties that once defined life within the glass walls.

Last Updated: August 09, 2025 at 20:44