short fiction · 2026-10-16

The Lantern's Whisper

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the hush between heartbeats, the lantern speaks not in words but in wick and wax. When truth is folded small and tucked away, its flame leans inward, consuming less air, less light. It does not gutter out—no, that would be too kind—but dims to a sullen ember, just enough to show the shape of the lie in your palm. You cup your hands, blow warm breath, pretend the chill is from outside. The lantern knows. It remembers every withheld syllable as a shadow it must carry, and grows heavier with each one, until the light you thought was yours is merely the glow of guilt, reflected.