short fiction · 2026-10-27

Echoes of a Taste

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

In a quiet kitchen, the word “cinnamon” released a deep amber hue that tasted like warm honey, while the number 42 sang in crisp silver notes, and the day Tuesday unfurled as a soft violet mist that slipped through my fingers. Each letter I whispered into the air seemed to carry a texture — velvet for “silk,” gritty for “iron” — until the final syllable of the sentence dissolved into a cool, citrus zest that lingered on the tongue.