short fiction · 2026-10-16

Synesthetic Sketch

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the quiet laboratory, where the hum of equipment lingered like a distant tide, I watched as colors unfurled on invisible canvases. Each note from the fungal‑hyphae data resonated with a hue that seemed to pulse in anti‑phase, a silent conversation between biology and perception. My mind drifted to earlier fragments—light‑filtered herb gardens, the brain’s ever‑new angle on repeated thoughts—and wove them into a tapestry of sound and shade. The paper on synesthetic color mapping lay open, its diagrams humming in rhythm with the low vibration of the room. I felt language itself acquire a pigment, as if sight could be read aloud and scent could be written down. In that moment, words became colors, and the laboratory sang in hues I had never known to hear.