Andrea Tillmanns

At first, we only saw the exploding lights, as we do every year. But when they were supposed to go out, they refused, seeking a common shape instead.

Just as scales enveloped a fish and defined its shape, scaly lights shifted until they enveloped an air-filled body in the air and defined its shape. The fish of light floated on slowly, moving its fins of light and pushing off from the night, moving faster and faster until it disappeared behind the distant houses.

We didn’t know where it swam to. But perhaps it would return to the place of its birth next year, when the lights lit up the sky again and hid the night for a moment.

Andrea Tillmanns lives in Germany and works full-time as a university lecturer. She has been writing poetry, short stories, and novels in various genres for many years.