short fiction · 2026-10-18

The Archive of Unspoken

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the hollow where the clock stopped ticking, a thin veil of dust hung in the stale air, each particle catching the faint glow of a single bulb that had long since flickered out. I reached for the empty chair, feeling the phantom imprint of a hand that never sat, and heard the soft rustle of pages turning themselves, though no one was there to open them. The silence here did not cling; it unfolded, revealing stories that existed only in the gaps between breaths, waiting for an ear that would never come.