Then There Were None Poem Novels & Stories

No one spoke of tomorrow. There was only the storm, and what it had stripped bare.

But the thread had been pulled. And it was unraveling. Soon, the Seventh would rise. Not with fire. Not with storms. But with the weight of everything forgotten.

⸻ “Are you lonely?” ⸻ Silence. ⸻ Absolute silence. ⸻ The Null froze. ⸻ The darkness stopped spreading. ⸻ The collapsing futures stopped vanishing. ⸻ Even the stars became still. ⸻ Because no one had ever asked. ⸻ Not the Dreamer. ⸻ Not the Writer. ⸻ Not the Witness. ⸻ No one. ⸻ The Null stared at him. ⸻ Then answered. ⸻

"If you've truly moved on, there wouldn't be any difference whether or not you see him, right?" "Since there's no difference, I might as well not see him." Lyra shut her eyes again, wanting to continue chanting scripture. Stanley pressed his palms together again and asked, "Has your heart found peace after being cooped up in here for the past week?" He turned and left without another word. But before he was out of sight, Lyra heard him recite something. "There is no tree, nor is any mirror bright and clear. Since nothing exists right from the start, where could dust ever appear?"

She asked I suddenly remembered the small poem in the book I have shared with Lea "Think of me, our time might come to an end. In a blink, you might be blind to see me." "I am on the brink of the cliff, can you catch me? I am shrinking, will you see me?" "In a wink, there's only one eye. In a heart, there's only one side" I haven't given attention to it but, it did affect me. Little did I know, it was the end

after everything I went through, still just insults I did my study on those creatures for years, and I can still remember some of my favourite poetry and poems I read as a kid A Last Word by Ernest Dowson Let us go hence: the night is now at hand; The day is overworn, the birds all flown; And we have reaped the crops the gods have sown; Despair and death; deep darkness o'er the land, Broods like an owl; we cannot understand Laughter or tears, for we have only known Surpassing vanity: vain things alone Have driven our perverse and aimless band. Let us go hence, somewhither strange and cold, To Hollow Lands where just men and unjust Find end of labour, where's rest for the old, Freedom to all

Because maybe she will. Because maybe that’s the new Pattern too: Not answers. Just invitations. --- We don’t have a crown. We don’t have a throne. We have mornings. We have storms. We have each other. And whatever comes next— We will not be silent.

I reached. There was nothing there. Not muted. Not distant. Gone.

And still the elements roared. There was no sky. No wind. No ground. Just light. Blinding, endless light.

Into something *truer*. When her hand met his— There was no explosion. No shockwave. No violent clash. There was— Silence. Absolute. The world didn’t stop. But it felt like it did. Because everything else— The wolves. The storm. The ruins. The forest— All of it faded. And it was just them. --- Inside the connection— There was no clearing. No ruins. No battle. Just— Space. Not empty. Not cold. But undefined. A place where nothing had been decided yet.