Hollow Man Apr 2026

At work, they call him by name. He nods, shakes hands, laughs at jokes that land like stones in still water. No ripples. No echoes. Just the performance of a man who once felt real.

And in the dark, he whispers to the ceiling: I was here once. Weren’t I? The ceiling says nothing. Because the ceiling, too, is hollow. Would you like a different tone—more poetic, more eerie, or more like a short story? Hollow Man

Here’s a short original piece titled Hollow Man At work, they call him by name

He is a bell with no clapper. A letter with no address. A flame in a vacuum— still orange, still hungry, but touching nothing. but touching nothing.