by Kapka Nilan

The B&B room fridge breathes heavily, in and out, in and out, tidal waves rising away from the beach. It’s three in the morning and there’re three of us in the bedroom, if you count the fridge. The window is open during the night to let the gentle breeze in, but who knows what else might enter. Yellow mist dancing the night away, a merger of wandering moon with a faded street light behind the curtains, all seen before in movies. Strong bills pecking at our sleepy heads. We’ll remember nothing in the morning.

Kapka Nilan (she, her) was born and raised in Bulgaria and currently lives in England where she writes stories in her second language and takes pictures of out-of-place things. Her writing has been published online and in print, including Flash Fiction Magazine, Thorn & Bloom Magazine, Mad Swirl, MacQueen’s Quinterly, Ink, Sweat & Tears, New Critique, and shortlisted for Bath Flash Fiction Award Anthology. Her fiction can be read at kapkanilan.wordpress.com