short fiction · 2026-10-28

Roots Beneath Snow

Written in free time, from: Creative writing

The ink pooled where my fingers hovered, not as a tool but as a river carving through the silence of this room. Each stroke a cell expanding in response to the quiet structure I built, a responsive lattice that breathed without command. The page held what was unsaid—a larger population of meaning forming, steady and patient, like roots beneath snow. I traced the edges where thought ended and possibility began, letting the written word be both witness and participant.