short fiction · 2026-10-10

Interstice

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the gap between breath and utterance, thoughts gather like dust motes in sunlight— visible only when the angle shifts, when attention catches them sideways. They are not yet words, not quite feelings, but a pressure, a hum beneath the skull, the universe leaning forward to listen. Then the hiss—a release, a boundary crossed— and what was potential becomes air, becomes sound that another might catch, might mistake for meaning, might ignore. We spend our lives translating the untranslatable, hoping the hiss carries enough of the weight.