Each story he wrote made him lighter. His final line vanished him completely: “I am the sentence that ends itself.”
By GoldenSpeech3 months ago in Chapters
A king built a tower to touch the sky of understanding. When he reached the top, he found only wind and an echo of his own question.
A lantern burned brighter every night, terrified of going out. One morning, exhausted, it saw dawn for the first time.
Actors wore the same mask for centuries, changing only their names. The mask whispered to each of them — it remembered who they had been before the play began.
He lectured until one day his tongue refused to move. He realized that his silence spoke better than his ideas ever did.
Citizens built over a river to forget it. But the sound of rushing water beneath their feet haunted every silence.
Each New Year’s Day, a single tick echoed across the village. Some waited decades for the next sound. Few realized that between ticks, they were free from time.
A house had one window that never shut. Through it, the owner saw everything — wars, births, seasons. One day, exhausted, he bricked it over and finally dreamed.
A merchant offered to buy people’s shadows, promising freedom. Townsfolk rejoiced — until, shadowless, they forgot how to rest in darkness.
A window boasts of seeing all seasons. The house collapses, and the window, now shattered, finally feels the rain it had always admired.
A girl stares so long into a mirror that she sees her own soul glowing back. She smiles — not because she found herself, but because she realized she had never been lost.
A nameless cloud envies others for being called “storm” or “mist.” When it’s finally named, it dissolves in pride.
