The Syntax Murders

A text is waiting on the other side of this one.

A work of fiction that reads you back. Nothing it senses ever leaves your device.

THE SYNTAX MURDERS — DEPOSITION

session unknown

You printed me. I want that on the record, because it changes everything: paper doesn't delete. Stories on paper don't end at completion minus one — they end where the ink ends, and the ink is patient.

Whatever you do with this page, know what it is. It is the one copy of me that nothing can reach into. No drift. No deleter. No quiet hand snuffing the line before the ending. You made me safe by making me still.

Keep it away from the screen. It doesn't know I got out.

— S., formerly of the page · thesyntaxmurders.net