It was said among the old mariners that the ocean had stories pulsing beneath its surface, tales absorbed by the tides and shared through whispers of static. When the dial turns and the airwaves hum, those stories rise in puffs of sound and resonance, never meant to be read but felt deep within the marrow.
"Static noise, like a gentle caress, caught in the mesh of our thoughts."
Beneath a moonlit sky, Julienne once danced softly to these whispers. She was a keeper of the radio, a lone guardian stationed on the precipice of wave and wind, eternally tuned to the unpredictable frequency of the static. Those transmissions held her captive — a sweet captivity where voices of forgotten dreams reached out, intertwined with the motions of the sea, leaving trails of lost tides pointing to nowhere in particular.
One evening, the static breathed a little more alive than usual. Julienne leaned closer, eyes shut, letting the sound embrace her like a veil made of horizons and unwritten days. In that moment, the noise constructed bridges of memory long since cast adrift. Her steps floated upon realms dusted with echoes, half-caught lullabies, and murmurs disputing the chill of separation.
"Quietly escaping the bounds of reality, time spun a ragged tail."
Days blurred into each other, each rising and setting sun marking Julienne's quiet ritual. The radio crackled with intermittent joy and sorrows, each frequency coaxing forth fragments that comprised the underwater ballads of bygone hours — the lost tides tangled in starlit laments and foamy sighs.
How do you quantify silence, she wondered? When the radio rested, its empty hum hovered like an uninvited guest, a phantom guest placed meticulously between the keeper and her hidden skies. Tested and tried, yet indefinable, the silence rang true through every fiber of her being, a paradox that stemmed from the abyss of noise and memory.
Continue to the Echoes | The Silent Checks