Memory, Fiction...


The cigarette was hanging between his lips, the smoke was curling up in the air. The moon was astonishingly bright that night and the halo, too clear to remain unnoticed. He took out his phone, wrote “Lunar halo. Have a look at the moon.”. “Aren’t you sleepy?”, a reply came before the next puff of the cigarette. He took the last puff, smiled while exhaling. He looked at the distant hills, those small lights, the other side of the river. It was the beginning of the fall, his most dear days of the year. He went back to his room. Chopin’s Nocturnes was still playing on the music player. Everything was too good to be real.


He took out his phone, looked at the screen. It was 10:30 pm. The roads were empty, the shops were closed. He was waiting for the cab to arrive. It was the…

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