The Quiet Compression
They never destroy the world. They fold it into one voice and wait.
You see, the Greys don’t erase planets. They compress them. Into one person. Osmosis isn’t the right word, but it’s close enough. They pour every ounce of being—every scream, every soil microbe, every wrong goodbye—into that final witness. It steeps in the marrow.
And then they wait.
Because gods talk eventually. Even if it’s just to themselves.
Even if it’s just one word.
Even if it’s “again.”
The sand didn’t stop rising.
About the Creator
Jesse Shelley
Digital & criminal forensics expert, fiction crafter. I dissect crimes and noir tales alike—shaped by prompt rituals, investigative obsession, and narrative precision. Every case bleeds story. Every story, a darker truth. Come closer.
Keep reading
More stories from Jesse Shelley and writers in Fiction and other communities.
"Hear Me Out"
"Hear me out, what if we ran away together?" "Where do you want to go?" "Anywhere but here. We could move to a new city or to Canada, or we could disappear from society to live in the middle of the woods. Maybe a combination of two of those things would be good. What do you say?"
By Kay Husnick7 days ago in Fiction
The Pot Boiling Over
Once, there was a pot of about 340 million drops and droplets. Most of them would like to think they lived together peacefully for decades, but that wasn’t true. Different regions struggled, sometimes fought, with each other. And the mainstreams still often pursued and attacked the minorities. Law enforcers sometimes pushed minority drops out of the pot, never to be seen again.
By Gabriel Shames2 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
sea in a mug