[Novel] Black Serenity

At the bottom of the night, there is not even a hint of words.
Black settles quietly, as if gently wrapping the world that has lost its sound.

In an old hut at the edge of the forest, I was listening to the black, all alone.
There is something deeper than color in black. If you touch it, you are drawn in; if you gaze at it, it reflects even the fluctuations of your own thoughts.
Perhaps silence is the presence that lurks within the black.

Sitting by the window of the hut and breathing in the air, which felt like droplets of night chill, memories from long ago trembled faintly.
When I was young, my mother often said,
"The most important things are hidden within the silence."
I never understood what she meant by that.

Suddenly, I notice a black feather lying on the floor.
Perhaps it belongs to a night bird. When I place it in my palm, it feels cool, and I feel as if it is trembling slightly.
That trembling was like the heartbeat of someone who was not here.
The feather is light. Yet, the deep darkness that sinks beyond that lightness gently scoops up the depths of my heart.

When I went outside, the black was even more densely filled.
The forest simply exists, answering every question with silence.
As I walk, I think: perhaps silence is not a form of rejection, but a form of compassion.
The forest gently wraps every scream and every tear in a membrane of black, accepting even an awkward heart at the same temperature.

Before long, a breeze blows, fluttering.
The black feather dances up from my fingertips and melts into the night sky.
In that moment, something that had been frozen deep in my chest slowly unraveled.

In a world without sound, I finally realize.
Silence was not something that traps loneliness, but something that gently strokes it.
Black was not a symbol of coldness, but the very embrace that holds all colors.

When I returned to the hut, the night had become a little brighter.
It was not that the light had increased.
The black inside me had quietly taken on warmth.

Silence is always holding its breath in a corner of the world.
But if you listen closely, you can certainly hear it.
If you touch it, it is certainly there.

I whispered softly,
"Good night."
The voice melted into the black, shimmering softly in the silence.

And the night remained, as gentle and deep as ever.

#NovemberLiteratureTheme #November20 #Silence #Black
#Novel #SS #ShortShort #ShortNovel #PureLiterature #Literature