Last year in 2025 I made this video and this remix; accompanying the video is the story that inspired it—I hope you enjoy it.
The Wisper in the Night
By Senex Petrovic (2025)
The Whisper of the Night
Beneath a sky of ink-blue, where the moon wept in silence, a mother faded into shadow. Seated before a broken table, in a house that groaned under the weight of abandonment, her pale face was a canvas of grief. Her garments, grey rags dancing with the wind, whispered of hunger. The barren field about her, a sea of dust and forgetfulness, stretched without end, without a shoot, without a sigh. Night, cruel and mute, wrapped her in its mantle of ashes.
In a corner, her son, a tiny spectre with eyes like broken moons, lay upon a bed of boards and rags. Hunger, a wolf in his belly, stole his sleep. The shadows on the walls writhed and lengthened, like fingers of a sick dream. Then his soul broke: an ethereal reflection, blue as ice, rose from his sleeping body. It floated, lost between sleep and waking, seeing its own still body and its mother, a far-off echo fading into the mist.
Driven by a cold without name, the spectral child ran along a road of dust, where dry trees raised branches like the claws of a forgotten god. A rusty carriage, with a rattle of the other world, crossed the night, raising clouds of ash. The child lifted his voice, but the wind swallowed it, and the carriage, blind, left him behind. His steps echoed in nothingness, beneath a starless sky.
The path led him to a broken village, where crooked houses whispered secrets and flickering lights danced like lost souls. From the shadows came bony figures, with waxen faces and smiles that cut the air. Their eyes shone, cold as glass, and their skeletal hands sought to catch him. The child fled, but a dark carriage overtook him, and cold, hurried hands dragged him inside.
They cast him at the edge of a city of sharp towers, where neon lights bled blue, violet and green into the gloom. The child, translucent as a sigh, entered, spellbound. The people, pale as death, walked in an endless waltz, their clothes shining like constellations. But their faces did not smile; their eyes were empty wells. The city, a gothic mirage, pulsed with a life that did not exist.
In the glass of the shop windows the child saw the truth: a world of cobwebs and rubble, dead shops and buildings crumbling like broken dreams. But when he turned his gaze, the city shone again, a carnival of lights and shadows. The illusion was a veil, and he an intruder in its dance.
Drawing near, he saw that all wore goggles, lenses that flashed with visions of another world. No one spoke; the silence was an ocean broken only by the humming of the lights. Their clothes, which from afar seemed fine, were phosphorescent tattoos upon filthy rags. Their bare feet trod the dust, but distance clothed them in glory.
The towers, proud and high, were but painted cardboard, a façade that hid a city in ruins, wounded by a war without name. The child trembled. Turning, hundreds of eyes caught him, shining behind the goggles like beacons in the mist. The crowd, a chorus of ghosts, pointed at him, and the air grew heavy, like a broken heartbeat.
He ran. The streets closed like jaws, the lights flickered like dying hearts. The horde pursued him, their neon tattoos burning in the darkness. The child escaped, losing himself on a road of mist, where the city came undone like a dream that shatters.
He awoke with a cry, his heart galloping in his breast. The house still lay in ruins, and his mother slept at the table, a portrait of ashes beneath the moonlight. The child looked at his hands, trembling, and the night, eternal, embraced him with its silence.
Original: El susurro de la Noche (2025) Spanish
– Senex Petrovic 2025 🇵🇸
