Sound Fruit Novels & Stories

My voice was so calm, it surprised even me. "When I was little, my dad cheated. One day, he brought his mistress home, and she gave me a mango. Back then, I hadn't tasted mangoes much, so I got excited when I saw the fruit. I sat there on the couch, eating it. When my mother came home and saw the mango in my hands, she didn't say a single word…and jumped out the window." Alan's lips parted. His expression shifted from shock to blank silence. I continued, "You said it was just a joke. Maybe for you, it was. But not for me. So can I go now?"

Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Clang! Five consecutive metallic sounds resonated. Five flying swords were broken on the spot after the Xavion Sword had slashed them. The broken blades emitted a mournful wail and fell one after another. It was at a breakneck speed. If one did not listen carefully, he would not hear five sounds inside and thought there was only one sound. Poof! Poof! Poof! Poof! Poof!

The sound that erupts from me is raw, unfiltered, and filled with a torrent of emotions that words alone cannot express. "AAAAHHHH!" The scream tears through my throat, carrying with it the weight of betrayal, hurt, and shattered dreams. It echoes off the walls, a desperate plea for answers and solace that can never truly be granted. The sound resonates, vibrating through every fiber of my being as if trying to purge the pain that threatens to consume me.

Ren added a note to her latest loop, *Unopened Isn’t Unloved*: It featured: – Fabric being placed on wood – The rustle of a leaf settling – Footsteps approaching, then pausing – The sound of a sigh, not from pain—but memory Ren had been experimenting with sound installations, capturing the emotional texture of ordinary moments. This piece would play on a gentle loop in the corner gallery, barely audible unless someone stopped to listen. She had recorded the sounds without Jo or Franc knowing, standing at a distance with her equipment, honoring the privacy of their exchange while preserving its essence.

It was the song of Liora and Ashiel, and it was loud and clear and strong. She looked at Leo. Another fruit, this one long and curved like a horn, had floated to him. He held it, and his eyes were closed, a look of ecstasy on his face. He was hearing the song. The true song. Not the weakened melody of the present, but the full, powerful, original song of their world, stored in this fruit.

Her skin burned under his touch, and they marveled at the familiar sound of the small but increasingly frequent moans they emitted. Suddenly, however, as if sent from an alternate universe, the song "Here Comes The Sun" by The Beatles began to play. The sound actually came from very close by, from the iPhone that Sophie had placed on the coffee table in front of the sofa where they were. Still, it took a few seconds for them to realize it was a phone ringing and to break out of the kind of sensual trance they were in.

BANG! Thr‌‌ou‍g‍h th‌e swirli‌ng b⁠lack fog, a soun⁠d echoed,‌ a sound so heavy, so thu‌n‌derous, so absolu‍te‌, that th‍e wet stone fl‍oor‍ ben‌ea⁠th my‌⁠ bac⁠k shoo‌k in rhythm with the noise.‌ ‌Heavy, razor-shar⁠p obsi‌‌dian claws teari‌ng t⁠hrough gra‍nite.

Riska shouted at the Master AI. The Master AI blinked, and suddenly a powerful, low-frequency sound wave swept through the tunnel, heading straight for Kevin. VVVVWWWOOOOMMMMMM! Kevin staggered, his hands reflexively covering his ears. His 'Level 3 Synthetic Buff' gave him physical strength, but it did not make him immune to sonic attacks. "Argh! What is this?!" Kevin roared, his protein pistol wavering. "That's a modified version of the 'Sugar Disintegration Sonic Wave,' Kevin!" Riska shouted, her voice firm.

I could hear how tired he was, and the truth that it was my fault made me feel that much more guilty. “The sound,” I muttered as I tried to look around for water, or soda, or coffee, anything that would wet my dry throat. “I don’t hear… what does it sound like?” I blinked, thinking of what might make such a sound. When I couldn’t think of anything, I shrugged. “Skritch, skritch, skritch.” I let my words fall into rhythm with whatever was making the sound, having memorized the pattern of wherever it was coming from. “That’s impossible.” Reign’s words were a near whisper against the tile of the shower where it bounced around us like light, and glass, and beauty.

Ajax Larwoods. The smell of rain and wood, the colors of the sky that turned into a mellow orange hue that always made ways in giving my heart a touch of comfort, drizzled by unspeakable flying insects as he spoke to me with his low, husky voice. From my birth to my current self, these crazy thoughts were brought upon by my affection toward one person―Ajax.