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Submitted to Contest #334
Letters I Never Sent I kept the letters in a blue box under the bed, the kind that once held shoes and now held time. The cardboard had softened with years, the corners bent like tired elbows. Inside were envelopes of different sizes, none sealed, all addressed, none sent. I never meant to keep them this long. I never meant to keep them at all. Letters, I believed, were meant to travel. These stayed. They learned the shape of silence. The first letter was written on a train. I remember the movement because my handwriting leaned forward, as i...
Submitted to Contest #333
The Gesture The station concourse was neither loud nor quiet. Sound moved through it the way air did—present, unnoticed unless something interrupted it. James stopped near a narrow counter set between a newspaper stand and a row of ticket machines. Steam rose from a metal container, faint but steady. He watched the vendor lift a small paper-wrapped item from the heat. The gesture was practiced: a brief pause, a turn of the wrist, the paper folded inward so nothing escaped. James noticed the warmth first, seeping through the thin layers whe...
Submitted to Contest #332
Something inside her shifted, a dissonant note in her body’s hidden machinery. At first it was subtle — a hesitation between one heartbeat and the next, a fraction of silence where there should have been rhythm. She paused in the middle of the room, hand hovering uselessly in the air, trying to remember what she had been about to do. The thought slipped away before it could take shape. She told herself it was nothing. Fatigue. The storm. Too many nights without real sleep. She made her way to the bathroom for light, for clarity, for anything...
Submitted to Contest #331
THE PORTAL BENEATH THE SNOW The first snow in New Tokyo never falls quietly. It comes in thin electric flakes, each flake catching the neon like a dying pixel before it touches the ground. Nothing in this city is ever still. Even winter hums here — low, persistent, electric. Aira stood alone on the abandoned Skybridge, a rusting spine of glass arching above District 7. Her breath drifted in silver threads, dissolving into the blue glow rising from the streets below. Trains hissed in the distance, and somewhere far beneath her, an aut...
THE PORTAL BENEATH NEON by Marite Karlova Neon Pulse Tokyo flickered the way a heart stumbles before finding its rhythm. Neon signs trembled in the moist night, shedding thin vibrations that crawled across Mara’s skin. She moved slowly, listening. The city felt strange tonight—more awake, more attentive, as if trying to speak through the static of its lights. The street she walked was narrow, paved with glistening tiles still warm from the day’s sun. A soft hum rose from underneath, too regular to be electricity, too emotional to be machin...
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