We are counting.
I open my eyes.
Suction cups.
On my chest. On my arms. Everywhere.
Seventeen.
Eighteen.
Voices whisper.
I don’t remember. When?
Something is moving in the fridge.
Don’t drink.
Mother is waiting.
A short psychological horror visual novel about obsessive counting and bodily intrusion. A fragmented narrative where the everyday melts into absurdity. We are counting you.