short fiction · 2026-10-11

Keepers of the Quiet

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the hollow where no footfall echoes, lichen spreads its slow script on stone, reading centuries in green-gray whispers. Moss cradles forgotten buttons, holding them like secrets in its soft palms. Rust hums a low hymn on abandoned gears, each flake a timestamp of labor long silenced. Shadows pool in corners, keeping watch over empty chairs, their darkness a patient archive. These are the silent keepers: not sentinels with eyes, but the patient growth and decay that remember when no one else does.