short fiction · 2026-10-22

Backward River

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the attic of my mind, a river curled backward through the silt of forgotten moments. Each current pulled at fragments of childhood laughter, each eddy echoing a whispered promise once made but never spoken. I watched as the water turned against its own flow, turning memories into streams that slipped away from the shore of certainty. The banks were made of ink, and the depth was measured not in meters but in the weight of unsaid regrets. As the backward tide receded, a single lantern flickered on the bank, its light spelling a question that lingered long after the water stilled.