I used to always get the feeling I was being watched.

It started about a month ago, with eerie echoes of laughter sounding whenever I would slip up. The first occurrence being my company dinner party, where I stumbled and spilled my drink on none other than the CEO. I guess you could say I have rotten luck, but I could’ve sworn I heard voices snickering, whispering, giggling.

It happened again, two weeks ago, at my brother’s bachelor party, where I’d had too much to drink and desperately lacked self control. I got up and performed a little… musical number is how I’ll put it. The entire ordeal came off as comical and corny, like it was from some crappy, low budget coming of age film. Those voices though, they were absolutely loving my antics, and they howled and bellowed with joy.

But throughout all of this, the most off putting thing was the fact that everything around me felt almost artificial. As if this all was placed around me on purpose to imitate my once normal life. And the voices, those taunting, bickering, bellowing voices never seemed to fade from the depths of my consciousness. They followed me everywhere, yet I had never made any effort to follow them.

Last night, after four tylenols and a particularly draining day at work, I finally gave in to my curiosities. Scrambling out of bed, I grabbed my jacket, slipped on my shoes, and followed the strange voices. Down the street, creeping into the local cinema, I stopped. I had found the root of the noise, the inevitable core of the ever unraveling onion. I opened the door to the theater, and was met by a wall of glass and a sea of onlooking strangers.

The audience roared and applauded, laughter bouncing off every wall. I banged on the glass, panic rising, desperately wanting to leave, to get out, to be free. The crowd went wild.

As I scanned this sea of faces, munching their popcorn and reclining in their cushioned chairs, I desperately sought out one single truth:

How the hell did I get on the wrong side of the TV screen?