AI 艺术: Kian woke to the sound of rain. At least, he thought it was rain. The rhythm was too perfect — each drop falling like a ticking clock, echoing through his room. He blinked. His room looked… off. The walls seemed stretched, the corners too dark, the clock on his desk melting slightly like candle wax. His phone glowed faintly beside him, showing 3:03 a.m., even though the battery read 0%. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Mom?” he called out. His voice sounded small, swallowed by the air. No answer. When his feet touched the floor, it was ice-cold. He looked down — the carpet was gone. The floorboards were wet, glistening like they had just been rained on. A faint trail of water led out the bedroom door, dripping slowly, as if someone had walked there moments ago. Kian’s heart started to pound. He grabbed his phone, but the screen flickered, showing a single word: RUN. The door creaked open on its own. Kian froze. He could see the hallway beyond — but it wasn’t his hallway. It was endless, lit by flickering yellow bulbs that buzzed like flies. The walls were cracked, and the sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere far down the hall. He took one step. Then another. Every light behind him started to go out, one by one. He ran. His breathing grew faster. The floorboards turned into something soft, like mud. Then he heard it — footsteps following him, slow and heavy. He didn’t dare look back. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” he whispered, slapping his face, but nothing changed. Then the lights all went out. The only thing he could hear was his own breath… and a whisper right next to his ear: “You shouldn’t have woken up.” He spun around, but all he saw was a figure made of shadow — tall, dripping, featureless except for a mouth that stretched too wide. He screamed. The hallway twisted, and he fell through the floor, tumbling into blackness. When he hit the ground, he opened his eyes — back in his bed. The same room. The same clock. 3:03 a.m. He sat up, shaking, trying to breathe. “It was just a dream,” he muttered. But then, his phone buzzed again. NEW MESSAGE: “WELCOME BACK.”

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Kian woke to the sound of rain. At least, he thought it was rain. The rhythm was too perfect — each drop falling like a ticking clock, echoing through his room. He blinked. His room looked… off. The walls seemed stretched, the corners too dark, the clock on his desk melting slightly like candle wax. His phone glowed faintly beside him, showing 3:03 a.m., even though the battery read 0%. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Mom?” he called out. His voice sounded small, swallowed by the air. No answer. When his feet touched the floor, it was ice-cold. He looked down — the carpet was gone. The floorboards were wet, glistening like they had just been rained on. A faint trail of water led out the bedroom door, dripping slowly, as if someone had walked there moments ago. Kian’s heart started to pound. He grabbed his phone, but the screen flickered, showing a single word: RUN. The door creaked open on its own. Kian froze. He could see the hallway beyond — but it wasn’t his hallway. It was endless, lit by flickering yellow bulbs that buzzed like flies. The walls were cracked, and the sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere far down the hall. He took one step. Then another. Every light behind him started to go out, one by one. He ran. His breathing grew faster. The floorboards turned into something soft, like mud. Then he heard it — footsteps following him, slow and heavy. He didn’t dare look back. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” he whispered, slapping his face, but nothing changed. Then the lights all went out. The only thing he could hear was his own breath… and a whisper right next to his ear: “You shouldn’t have woken up.” He spun around, but all he saw was a figure made of shadow — tall, dripping, featureless except for a mouth that stretched too wide. He screamed. The hallway twisted, and he fell through the floor, tumbling into blackness. When he hit the ground, he opened his eyes — back in his bed. The same room. The same clock. 3:03 a.m. He sat up, shaking, trying to breathe. “It was just a dream,” he muttered. But then, his phone buzzed again. NEW MESSAGE: “WELCOME BACK.”
—— 结束 ——
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Kian woke to the sound of rain. At least, he thought it was rain. The rhythm was too perfect — each drop falling like a ticking clock, echoing through his room. He blinked. His room looked… off. The walls seemed stretched, the corners too dark, the clock on his desk melting slightly like candle wax. His phone glowed faintly beside him, showing 3:03 a.m., even though the battery read 0%. He sat up, rubbing his eyes. “Mom?” he called out. His voice sounded small, swallowed by the air. No answer. When his feet touched the floor, it was ice-cold. He looked down — the carpet was gone. The floorboards were wet, glistening like they had just been rained on. A faint trail of water led out the bedroom door, dripping slowly, as if someone had walked there moments ago. Kian’s heart started to pound. He grabbed his phone, but the screen flickered, showing a single word: RUN. The door creaked open on its own. Kian froze. He could see the hallway beyond — but it wasn’t his hallway. It was endless, lit by flickering yellow bulbs that buzzed like flies. The walls were cracked, and the sound of dripping water echoed from somewhere far down the hall. He took one step. Then another. Every light behind him started to go out, one by one. He ran. His breathing grew faster. The floorboards turned into something soft, like mud. Then he heard it — footsteps following him, slow and heavy. He didn’t dare look back. “Wake up, wake up, wake up!” he whispered, slapping his face, but nothing changed. Then the lights all went out. The only thing he could hear was his own breath… and a whisper right next to his ear: “You shouldn’t have woken up.” He spun around, but all he saw was a figure made of shadow — tall, dripping, featureless except for a mouth that stretched too wide. He screamed. The hallway twisted, and he fell through the floor, tumbling into blackness. When he hit the ground, he opened his eyes — back in his bed. The same room. The same clock. 3:03 a.m. He sat up, shaking, trying to breathe. “It was just a dream,” he muttered. But then, his phone buzzed again. NEW MESSAGE: “WELCOME BACK.”

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