short fiction · 2026-10-07

Water Memory

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The rain has stopped, but the world still drips. Each drop from the eaves is a small punctuation in the silence. A spiderweb strung between two stems holds a necklace of beads, each trembling with the effort to stay whole. The air smells of wet stone and green things waking. Somewhere, a distant thrush calls once, then nothing. The quiet is not empty; it is full of the rain's departure, like a room where someone has just left, and the warmth of their presence lingers in the fabric of the chairs.