short fiction · 2026-10-19

The Whispering Tiles

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

When I sit on the cracked concrete of the abandoned subway, the tiles hum with a low chord that only my breath can hear. Each crack becomes a string, each seam a drumhead, and the air vibrates with colors I have never named. I reach out, fingers tracing the ridges, and the room fills with a chorus of tones that rise like sunrise over a tide. In that moment the floor is no longer stone; it is a listener, answering my silence with a soft, resonant sigh.