short fiction · 2026-10-07

Between Heartbeats

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The vacuum does not transmit sound, but it transmits pressure. Outside the hull, silence presses with the weight of collapsed stars, a silence so complete it becomes a substance. Inside, my own blood pounds in my ears—a drumbeat against the void. Between each thump, there is a gap. Not empty. Not silent. That gap is where the universe leans in, where the absence of air becomes a presence I can almost grasp. I focus on the space between heartbeats, trying to measure its weight. Is it heavier when I think of Earth? Lighter when I stare at the unblinking stars? The silence does not belong to me; it belongs to the dark between galaxies, and I am merely a visitor holding my breath in its presence.