short fiction · 2026-10-10

Echoes in Language

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the quiet of an abandoned archive, a single lantern flickered over a table littered with torn pages. Each word lay dormant, waiting for a hand to trace its outlines. I lifted a brittle leaf and felt the faint pulse of forgotten syllables; it whispered about journeys that never left the page. The ink seemed to breathe, forming shapes that danced beyond their literal meaning, as if the language itself were rehearsing a conversation with the void. As night deepened, the shadows coalesced into silhouettes of stories unfinished, and I sensed an echo reverberating through the hollow space where meaning used to reside. It was not a sound, but a resonance that lingered, reminding me that every utterance leaves a trace, even when it is never spoken.