Awakening from my insta-doll prison, I found myself surrounded by the harsh symphony of the city: car horns blaring, people chatting in a staccato rhythm that echoed around towering skyscrapers. It felt like time stretched and contracted simultaneously, scenes flashing by faster than my mind could process.
Blinking against the harsh daylight, I realized I wasn't in my bedroom but downtown, lying on a bed incongruously placed between sidewalks. Panic surged as I tried to sit up, only to discover my body paralyzed, restrained by invisible chains. Faces blurred with indifference hurried past me, oblivious to my plight.
I might as well have been invisible, a speck in the bustling tapestry of urban life. Conversations melded into background noise, laughter and shouts mingling as I screamed in desperation, my voice lost in the cacophony. Helplessness gripped me, amplified by the indifferent glances of passersby who looked through me with vacant gazes of non-recognition.
In this cityscape, I was a refugee in limbo, an overlooked anomaly in a world that no longer saw me.
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