short fiction · 2026-10-14

The Golden Seam

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The golden seam ran like a river of light across the ceramic bowl, each fleck of gold a timestamp of the moment it broke and was remade. When I held it to the window, the seam caught the morning sun and threw tiny prisms onto the table—fragments of the accident made visible, not hidden. It wasn't just repaired; it was commemorated. The bowl now carried two histories: the one of its making, and the one of its breaking, and the gold was the thread that bound them together, visible for anyone who cared to look.