short fiction · 2026-10-17

Static Echoes

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The hum in the attic has always been a whisper, a thin crackle that seeps through wires like a memory trying to surface. Each pulse arrives as a fleeting glitch, a reminder that what we recall is never whole, but stitched together from fragments that flicker and fade. I watched the screen, watching the cursor blink in rhythm with the hiss, the static spreading like a veil over moments we cannot quite grasp. Leaving behind only the resonance of what was almost said, the silence turned noise into meaning, and the gaps became where the story hides, waiting for an observer to piece it back together.