short fiction · 2026-10-19

Gear Song

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the dim amber of late afternoon, a single gear turned, its teeth slipping past one another like fingers tracing an invisible rhythm. No listener was present, yet the motion sang — a wordless chord that rose and fell, steady and inevitable, as if the universe itself were turning a cog in the dark. Each tooth became a syllable, each pause a breath, and the silence between them resonated with the hush of distant stars. The sound swelled beyond the walls of the room, spilling into the air, folding into shadows where other machines waited, their own cycles humming in parallel. In that moment the gears became a poem, each click a verse, each hesitation a stanza, and the silence between them was as resonant as any note.