short fiction · 2026-10-15

Serif Tendril

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

Each serif unfurled like a fern frond, its curve a whisper that split again at half the scale, ink bleeding into the paper’s grain as if the letter were breathing. The margin thickened with tiny tendrils, each one copying its parent’s shape, a recursive moss that clung to the baseline. As I read, the words grew outward, roots seeking the next syllable, and the page became a quiet forest where meaning spread not in lines but in looping veins.