NEW FICTION:

There is a moment when there is movement within the walls, a struggle with fingertips, a visceral shifting within the silence. He whispers a name, his soft full lips touching the blank cream coolness of the wall. The connection is tantalising, cool, still...silent, but intensely moving. Then it is gone. Whatever there was, has gone. He breathes out, moves back from the wall, staring vaguely at his detached ghostlike silhouette. He frowns, examines the smooth cream of the wall with an intensity that shouldn't be there - but is. There is just silence.