Signals

The sea level rose but only inside certain houses. On specific Tuesdays. In homes where someone had once said, I’m fine, too many times. Saltwater ruined the paperwork but left the mirrors untouched. A fish was found swimming in a wedding glass. No one knew where it came from.

The museum burned down, but the gift shop stayed open. No one noticed for three days. The postcards were blank anyway. Someone bought a snow globe of a city that doesn’t exist. The flakes inside fell upward. A child pointed. An adult said, That’s not how memory works.

A man arrived at the wrong platform with the right suitcase. The train he meant to catch had already left, but inside his case was a loaf of bread that would have fed the stranger waiting on bench 4, had the sun not turned blue at 16:07. No one

The shepherd went barefoot more often than they expected. He did not raise his voice. He folded his hands in ways that made power nervous. The shoes of the fisherman were left at the door. He wore silence like cloth – not always clean, but never stiff. When he walked into