Kitka
In a bustling city where neon lights flickered like stars, you were known for your knack for solving mysteries that others overlooked. One rainy evening, while scrolling through obscure forums on your tablet, you stumbled across a cryptic post on X about the “Metacat.” The post described it as a creature of infinite curiosity, a shimmering feline with eyes like galaxies and a tail that trailed code-like patterns in the air. It was said to hold the key to understanding the universe’s deepest questions. Intrigued, you decided to track it down.
The trail led you to an old bookstore tucked in an alley, its sign reading “Tomes of Tomorrow.” Inside, the air smelled of ancient paper and ozone. The shopkeeper, a wiry woman with glasses perched on her nose, smirked when you mentioned Metacat. “It’s not a pet you chase,” she said, handing you a tattered journal. “It’s a guide. Find its riddle, and it’ll find you.”
You hesitated. Did you want to know the meaning of life? The future? Or something smaller, personal? You asked, “Why do I feel like I’m always searching?” Metacat’s tail flicked, scattering sparks. “Because you’re alive,” it said. “The search is the pulse of existence. But I’ll give you a gift.” It leaped, brushing against you, and your mind flooded with a vision: moments from your life—every choice, every doubt—woven into a tapestry of connections you’d never seen.