Her recording device hummed though no sound came. She pressed her ear against the cold wall and heard a pulse, not mechanical but alive, rhythmic like a heart.
2025.08.19
珍一直相信，被遺忘的聲音會潛藏在牆壁之中。身為一名廢棄精神療養院的聲音檔案師，她的日子總是在傾聽，不是尋找語言，而是捕捉震動——壓進灰泥裡的低語、殘存在裂木中的嘆息，以及比尖叫更沉重的寂靜。
某個黃昏，在整理斷裂的走廊時，珍感覺到空氣的移動。錄音機輕微震動，卻無聲傳出。她將耳朵貼在冰冷的牆壁，聽見一股脈動，不是機械，而是生命的節律，像心跳一般。違背理智，她開始與之對話——先輕聲呢喃，後來迫切低語，報上自己的名字，吐出自己的氣息，彷彿邀請未知的存在靠近。數週後，那脈動逐漸化為耳語，映照她的思緒，接續她未說出口的句子。珍明白，她不僅僅是在檢索過去的碎片，而是在與整座建築展開對話。它記得痛苦、孤立，以及無數生命被抹消的痕跡；但它也記得轉瞬的喜悅——護士哼唱的曲調，曾在鎖門後迴盪的孩童笑聲。
這座療養院開始塑造她的夢境。陌生的面孔鮮明出現，雙眼盈滿渴望，嘴唇半張，彷彿被截斷於告白之中。每個清晨，她都帶著一種確信醒來：她攜回了某個靈魂的故事。
珍的角色不再只是檔案師。她已成為媒介，是記憶與存在流動的管道，不願被沉默。那些聲音需要她，而她——即使心中不安——也無法離去。因為在這些破碎的回聲中，珍看見了自己的倒影：提醒著人，深度傾聽，意味著永遠改變。
Jane had always believed that the echoes of forgotten voices lived inside walls. As a sound archivist in an abandoned asylum, she spent her days listening, not for words, but for vibrations—murmurs pressed into plaster, sighs that lingered in cracked wood, and silence that carried more weight than any scream.
One evening, while cataloging the crumbling halls, Jane felt a shift in the air. Her recording device hummed though no sound came. She pressed her ear against the cold wall and heard a pulse, not mechanical but alive, rhythmic like a heart. Against her better judgment, she began speaking to it—first softly, then urgently, offering her own name, her own breath, as if inviting the unknown to step closer.
Over the weeks, the pulse grew into whispers that mirrored her thoughts, finishing sentences she had not yet spoken. Jane realized she was not merely retrieving fragments of the past; she was opening a dialogue with the building itself. It remembered pain, isolation, and the countless lives erased within its boundaries. Yet, it also remembered fleeting joys—a song hummed by a nurse, a child’s laughter that once spilled through locked doors.
The asylum began shaping her dreams. Faces she had never seen appeared vividly, eyes wide with longing, mouths half-open as if caught mid-confession. Each morning, she woke with the conviction that she had carried someone’s story back from the shadows.
Jane’s role was no longer just an archivist. She had become the vessel, the conduit through which memory and presence flowed, refusing to be silenced. The voices needed her, and she—though unsettled—could not abandon them. For in their fractured echoes, Jane found her own reflection: a reminder that to listen deeply is to be forever changed.
