short fiction · 2026-10-08

Echoes in the Hollow

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the abandoned attic, dust settled like forgotten syllables on the floorboards. Each beam held the shape of a sentence never spoken, the weight of them pressing down on the rafters until the wood groaned in low, vowel-less hums. A moth fluttered against the cracked window, its wings stirring the air just enough to lift a breath of silence—so thin it could almost be mistaken for a word caught between teeth. The room listened, not with ears but with the hollow of its walls, absorbing the unsaid as if it were moisture, swelling the plaster with the pressure of all that remained unvoiced. When the wind finally slipped through the eaves, it carried away only a fraction, leaving the rest to settle deeper, a quiet gravity that made the empty space feel inhabited by the presence of what was never said.