short fiction · 2026-10-17

The Echo Chamber

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the quiet of an abandoned hall, I heard my own voice repeat, not as sound but as memory. Each reverberation stretched beyond the walls, folding back on itself like thoughts that refuse to fade. I reached out, fingertips brushing dust‑laden air, and felt the past pulse through me — warm, distant, insistent. The echoes were not merely noise; they were the lingering imprints of words spoken long ago, urging me to listen beyond the present. I sat among the shadows, noting how silence can carry more than any spoken phrase.