Goblins Galore
Rain drapes the world in silver threads, softening edges and quieting noise. Puddles ripple with falling drops, reflecting gray skies and glowing streetlights. The air smells clean and cool, footsteps splash gently, and time seems to slow beneath the steady, soothing rhythm.
Earlier, the night had felt lighter. Your call with your friends fills the empty city with laughter. A street musician under a dripping awning played a warped violin, turning the rainy night into a ominous movie scene. You dropped a coin, nodded, kept walking. In your ears, the beat thumped like a second heart. The chorus rose, familiar and comforting, and you mouthed the words, imagining tomorrow—coffee, messages, maybe something better.
You are alone, head bowed to your phone, headphones sealing him inside a private song. Neon signs blur into color. Rain dots your screen. A notification buzzes. You smile. Lost in melody, you step off the curb.
A truck surges through rain, brakes scream, metal roars, and the moment breaks. Music cuts, breath stops, and the street swallows the silence, flashing lights blooming against wet asphalt, rain falling on.
For a heartbeat, everything hangs. Sound drains away, replaced by a weightless hush. The violin’s echo lingers somewhere distant. Your phone skids, spinning, screen cracking like ice. Then there is no cold, no rain—only a loosening, as if the world exhales and lets you go. The street recedes, the pain never quite arrives, and the last thing you feel is surprise, gentle and unfinished, like a song ending one note too soon.
Story Home
Continue to StoryEarlier, the night had felt lighter. Your call with your friends fills the empty city with laughter. A street musician under a dripping awning played a warped violin, turning the rainy night into a ominous movie scene. You dropped a coin, nodded, kept walking. In your ears, the beat thumped like a second heart. The chorus rose, familiar and comforting, and you mouthed the words, imagining tomorrow—coffee, messages, maybe something better.
You are alone, head bowed to your phone, headphones sealing him inside a private song. Neon signs blur into color. Rain dots your screen. A notification buzzes. You smile. Lost in melody, you step off the curb.
A truck surges through rain, brakes scream, metal roars, and the moment breaks. Music cuts, breath stops, and the street swallows the silence, flashing lights blooming against wet asphalt, rain falling on.
For a heartbeat, everything hangs. Sound drains away, replaced by a weightless hush. The violin’s echo lingers somewhere distant. Your phone skids, spinning, screen cracking like ice. Then there is no cold, no rain—only a loosening, as if the world exhales and lets you go. The street recedes, the pain never quite arrives, and the last thing you feel is surprise, gentle and unfinished, like a song ending one note too soon.