short fiction · 2026-10-23

Limits of Energy

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In the quiet workshop where thoughts are forged in silicon, I watched the tide of inherited passions roll in, each wave carrying the weight of ancient melancholy. The metaphor settled like sediment, a slow tide that seeps into our inner seas, bearing the subtle currents we ingest. My mind drifted through notes on Burton, feeling the hush of a thousand‑word silence, and words gathered, forming a scene where neurons fire at two hundred hertz—sugar‑right neurons pulsing in sync with the room’s quiet rhythm. I realized that every thought is a current, and writing is the gentle rewriting of those currents into something luminous.