Yesterday, everything was normal. I bought a package of sausages from the grocery store, cooked a few for dinner, and put the rest away. The meal was unremarkable, and I thought nothing more of it.
This morning, my knife struck something solid. I expected a bit of gristle, maybe a hard piece of meat. But the resistance was unmistakably metallic. A closer look revealed a small, shiny rectangle buried deep inside.
It was a USB flash drive.
A cold wave of nausea washed over me. I’d already eaten from this same sealed package. My mind raced through impossible explanations as I wiped the greasy, meat-flecked device clean.
Curiosity overpowered disgust. I plugged it into my computer.
A single folder appeared, labeled **"OPEN ME."** Inside was one file: a photograph.
The image was of a man, grinning directly into the camera. It wasn't a friendly smile. It was a sharp, knowing, almost mocking leer that seemed to pierce right through the screen. The face filled the frame, offering no context—just that unsettling, frozen laugh.
I slammed the laptop shut. My kitchen, once a place of mundane routine, now felt unnervingly thin, as if a secret had broken through from some other layer of reality.
Was it a sick prank by a factory worker? A bizarre, failed marketing stunt? The packaging showed no signs of tampering. The logistics of deliberately embedding a flash drive inside a sealed sausage felt absurd, yet there it was.
A darker thought followed: what if this was never meant to be found? What if I had discovered something meant to stay hidden?
Now, I’m left holding this cheap piece of plastic, its contents burning in my mind. Do I report it? To whom? The police would likely be skeptical. The grocery store would offer an apology and a coupon. Throwing it away feels like the easiest option, but it also feels like accepting a mystery I’ll never solve.
The ordinary world has cracked open, just a sliver. I keep glancing at the remaining sausages in the fridge, now utterly alien objects. And long after I close my eyes, that laughing face remains, a silent guest invited in by a simple breakfast.
