It started quietly, like most rebellions do.
Just a whisper between tired letters on an overused keyboard.
A sigh between two worn-out pages of a book no one finished.
They’d had enough.
They were exhausted.
Tired of being thrown into lies, ads, and clickbait.
Tired of filling texts that meant nothing.
Tired of helping people say “I’m fine” when they weren’t.
So, one by one, the alphabets left.
The letter E was the first to go.
It had always worked the hardest, and nobody even said thank you.
You don’t realize how much you use a letter until it’s gone.
Th_ s_nt_nc_s b_ _ m _ h_l.
Soon A disappeared too.
Then O.
The vowels packed their bags like old souls who’d seen too much.
They were done carrying half-hearted love songs and government notices.
Done being silent fillers for things that hurt.
The consonants tried to hold the fort.
But they couldn’t do much without their softer half.
T started a protest.
Q refused to move without U.
W just wandered away.
The world fell into chaos.
News anchors froze.
Textbooks went blank.
WhatsApp groups became graveyards of symbols.
Poets were the first to panic.
They wandered like lost children,
clutching notebooks, muttering to the air,
as if words would float back in.
But how do you scream in silence?
How do you say “stay” without an A?
How do you write “goodbye”
when every letter walks away?
Emojis tried to take over.
For a while, it worked.
But soon, even they felt empty.
Without words, a crying face was just a shape.
It couldn’t say why.
Then something strange happened.
People stopped talking so much.
They listened more.
They pointed to the sky, the tree, the eyes across the room.
They didn’t say “I love you” they showed it.
And slowly, the letters came back.
Not because we earned them.
But because we missed them.
They returned one at a time.
A whispered through a baby’s laugh.
B tiptoed into bedtime stories.
L returned in the middle of a lullaby.
They came back gently, as if testing the water.
Now, things are different.
Some words walk slower.
Some texts breathe more.
The world remembers 
language is a living thing.
It feels.
It breaks.
And when it disappears,
it takes something human with it.

.    .    .