Something is wrong. I know it. I can't see it properly, or hear it, but I can almost smell it. Faint, like burning tin.
It feels as if someone has picked up the entire world, moved it four centimeters sideways, and put it back down askew. Now only three of four legs are touching the ground, and every time something moves, it rocks slightly, unstable.
This feeling has been with me since I can remember. At times, I have been convinced that the world is not real. That if I turned sharply enough, my vision itself would tear through the fabric of reality, like a fingernail through a perished surgical glove.