034 — The Choir of the Stateless | Talon Z. Gray

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We speak as one voice,
but we are many—the disappeared and the erased,
our breath filling the gaps they left behind.

We were the echoes in the valley you ignored.
We were the footprints in the snow you claimed were the wind.
We are the foundation of the house you live in.

Our names are not on your papers,
but they’re carved into the stone beneath your feet.
Erasing us now doesn’t silence anything
—It proves we are right here.

Remember carefully: our voices come together.
I am.
We were not.
Signal lost.
Please hold.
My name was.
File not found.
But the memory — the memory is:
404 not found.
Still here—
Still here—
Still here—

It appears we have a glitch in the system.
Error.
Error.
Error.

Did we matter?

Did we matter?
Did we matter?
(Null.)

(The chorus collapses into glass shards on the surface only to rapidly reform into shattery grotesque shapes.)

It’s okay.
The mountain told us this would happen.
Every river returns to the sea,
and every story becomes a whisper.
Every whisper becomes the wind.

Do not grieve for the footprints.
Grieve for the snow that must forget them.

And listen—
Can you hear us?

Listen...
Can you hear us?

You think you are deleting the file,
but you are creating ghosts.

You think you are silencing the story—
(glitch crackle → sub-bass growl)
but you are creating the myth.

To burn a book is to prove it was written.
To erase a name is to carve its absence into history.

Go ahead—
Push the button.
Make it immortal.
Make it yours.