Hollow Man -

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?

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

He drives home through streets he knows by heart but cannot love. The radio plays a song he used to cry to. Now it’s just sound passing through. And in the dark, he whispers to the ceiling: I was here once

Here’s a short original piece titled Hollow Man Because the ceiling, too, is hollow

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.