The Silent Abyss

In the depths where whispers fade and shadows stretch, a story unfolds — fragmented, disconnected, yet hauntingly cohesive. An echo draws forth, a melody in the silence, playing in anti-resonance.

I stand before a hall indistinguishable from reality itself, only this room echoes in directions lost to perception. But here’s the promise of the selfies no longer uploaded to share. To see oneself, just once, in the reflection of a distorted future.

"Reflections can lie deeply," the words of a passerby within this carnival of consciousness rebounded. Their irony delivered on a harsh metallic sheen; sometimes the truth glimmers more fiercely than empty truths.

For once, they debated — or was it a debate within whispering constructs of the unreal? Children holding mirrors fractured into sovereign shards, negotiating nonexistence pauses.

Only silence responds, bridging between then and never was, with echoes turned mirrors, left unwitnessed by the observing.

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