Total stillness. No chaos. No strife. Perfection. That was Peiying, where citizens long embraced the art of calm. The city’s goal? Harmony. Everything was a well-crafted hourglass—life, actions, emotions. Feelings fled like gazelles in the eyes of prey. The pain of loss was nonexistent. Happiness was archaic.
17-year-old Lian, a citizen of neighbouring Harmonia, had secured the ultimate guide to discovering stillness–a state-sanctioned reflection journey to Peiying. The city met his youthful expectations–beautiful, serene, still. But its people seem strangely—distant. There was no joy. No sorrow. Just an odd, stoic vibe that seemed–too precise. Too practised.
🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷
Lian’s youthful feet took her through the centre of Peiying, its skyline well-crafted, as if painted by automation. Buildings were all perfectly shaped, sized, and aligned. Caretakers had given the trees in the park a precise manicure–their leaves were same-sized and aligned, cut by the same mould.
But it wasn’t–right.
A mother in the park sat on a bench, smiling. Her eyes blank as her arms went limp. Her baby slipped. She did not blink. The soft thud of the baby on the floor drew no glances.
In another corner was a group of friends, greeting each other–but in the sing-song hellos between strangers. Intoned, not spoken. Memorized, not meant. People passed her, their expressions unchanged–they seemed to have forgotten how to address the world.
There was no conflict. No argument. But there was also no joy. No laughter.
They were calm. Calm. Still. Soulless.
🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷
With the too-structured forms of Peiying’s people weighing heavily on his mind, Lian made his way to the library at the town’s centre. The librarian, without skipping a beat, greeted him with a smile carefully etched on her face. She pointed stoically to the archives as soon as she saw him.
“Welcome to the Republic of Peiying’s library. You’ll find everything about the city documented here.”
The tall, neatly installed bookshelves imposed overwhelmingly–they complemented a city attuned to the idyllic. Books, all the same size, were bound in the same fresh leather. Etched on the librarian’s face was a smile — peaceful, but manufactured.
Unreal.
Peiying was harmonious. Peace reigned with an absolute sceptre. But it was a sceptre that wielded so much control that the city was no longer alive.
🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷
On one of the painstakingly aligned bookshelves sat a leatherbound ledger, its contents waiting to wrap a mind in a shocking grip.
And shock Lian they did. One ghastly entry after another.
Mai: “I gave my heart to see the sunset.”
Jun: “My child had my soul–but I cannot feel his heart.”
Mother: ” It was my mind for my child…but her smile never reached her eyes.”
Peiying’s citizens had betrayed their hearts–for peace. It was a Surrender for Desire–each of them had unquestioningly folded their emotions into tightly sealed envelopes, leaving their hearts empty for peace. There was calmness–with endless space. Perfection had led to a life without meaning. No joy. No sadness. Just…blankness.
The city hadn’t crumbled–but its soul had. They found absolute peace—but abandoned life. Stillness—at the cost of emotion, connection and experience.
Peiying had indeed created life–one that was empty.
🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷
But the city’s lifelessness had triggered life within Lian. He needed to inject a new existence in Peiying—shatter its numbness.
In a way that teenagers knew how.
The youngster became a one-man rock band, shouting, dancing and singing in the town square, hoping that his monkeyish antics would spark life. He cried. Recalled fond memories.
“You used to hold concerts here in this square. Mothers would push their babies in their prams, cuddling them when they needed comfort. Remember the laughter? It used to fill the park. Soak it with its warmth. Where is it now?”
He spoke to each citizen he came across, trying to connect, but the poker faces of the citizens remained unchanged.
“I know that feelings are not allowed.” Lian’s frustration broke through his voice. “But you’ve lost the very thing that makes you—-human.”
All was quiet in the square—then sounds of sobbing. Soft mutterings of agreement swept through it, a sound unheard in years. Someone recalled a moment of joy.
“Grandma and I loved the ice cream here.”
The emotion was subtle but poignant.
Peiying wasn’t dead—the laughless city was starting to stir.
🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷
Then, a pedantic buzzing sound as his voice echoed the town square. Drones whirred around Lian, stirring the otherwise dead air. Then guards flooded the area in a quiet march, each of their faces locked in a peaceful, warped smile. They pinned Lian’s limbs down with mechanical precision.
The weeping stopped. The citizens watched, faces reverting to their practised, plastered smiles.
The guards throw Lian into a cell fashion from pure glass and steel–Peiying perfection, sterile and cold. Cameras blinked at each of its corners and at the ends of the corridors outside each one. There was no sound. No human voice. Just the persistent hum of the ventilation.
The prison wasn’t meant to punish–it was built to erase.
Dissidents who protested against peace.
Like him.
Lian felt drowned in the sea of idealist stillness–yet fiercely alive. The rebellious beat of his heart was a fierce drumbeat. They wanted him still, blank.
He threw a single punch on the wall–not out of anger, but defiance. The sound of gentle laughter started in his chest–a rebellion against artificial silence.
Then it became louder.
And it formed a crack- tiny, almost invisible–against the glass.
🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷🪷
Lian stood in his cell of glass and steel, the sterile environment stifling his breath. Peiying’s perfect structure pressed down on him–hard.
The guards arrived, swinging their arms with mechanical precision, eyes blank, smiles perfectly plastered and aligned. Their presence made the stillness more pressing–and Lian more defiant.
Lian’s eye swept over the crack in the glass–barely perceptible, but spreading slowly. The sound of the crowd outside grew louder. The cries of babies returned, soft, yet sure. Lian turned in their direction, standing straighter.
The shelves in the library shifted -creeping silently, but certainly. Lian pressed the cracked glass, and pieces started to fall, minute, sharp, one by one– on the too-clean floor.
If you like this story, do join me on Patreon! If you would like to donate to this blog, your kind donation via paypal would be greatly appreciated!
Please find a book of my horror microfiction, Echoes in the Dark, free for download here.
Love getting lost in a great story? Discover thousands of books on Amazon — from thrilling adventures to heartwarming tales. Find your next favorite read today with fast delivery, great prices, and endless choices. Shop now on Amazon and dive into your next adventure!
Today’s book is Poetry is Alive and Other Poems by Steve Anc.
The Getting Literal Writing Alcove 