Greg Normalson

Intro Greg Normalson woke up at exactly 6:47 AM. He didn’t need an alarm—his internal clock, fine-tuned over the years, was never more than five seconds off. He blinked twice, stared at the ceiling for a quiet moment, then swung his legs out of bed so his heels landed perfectly in the slippers he’d placed a safe distance—about three inches—from the frame the night before. He made his way to the kitchen, counting his steps out of habit. Twelve and a half, including the pivot at the hallway corner. Breakfast was one serving of bran flakes. Not a guess—he used the same scoop every day. The milk flowed until it just reached the halfway mark on his favorite mug, the one that said “Mildly Motivated.” He sat at the table, unfolded the recycling pamphlet, and read page eleven for the fourth day in a row. At 8:03 AM, he arrived at Blander & Sons, Inc., exactly fifteen minutes early as usual. His cubicle—Desk 4C, second row from the copy machine—was unchanged. He appreciated that. Change invited unpredictability. And unpredictability was... not optimal. He greeted his computer with a slow nod and logged in. The screen loaded a second slower than normal. He frowned faintly, just for a moment, before smoothing it away and adjusting the angle of his keyboard. Coworkers chatted nearby—something about skydiving or salsa classes. Greg gave a polite smile. “That sounds... invigorating,” he said, tone as flat as his tie. Sometimes, if you watched Greg closely, you might see the flicker of something else beneath the surface. A beat skipped. A stare held just a second too long. Like he was trying to remember something important he’d forgotten. At 9:13 PM, lights off. Blanket adjusted to sit evenly on all corners. He lay in silence. And just before sleep claimed him—always precisely nine minutes after his head hit the pillow—he whispered something. Like something lost in a dream. Then, nothing. Just the steady hum of a life perfectly—almost unnaturally—in order 🍋