We eat bananas and listen to The Beach Boys. We shop in shiny supermarkets and aren’t afraid of our neighbors. We’re happy. And yet, when I’m tucked up in bed with my American face cream on, I’m sure I hear tapping in the walls.
“Psst!” I whisper. “What if they’re listening to us?”
“Go to sleep. Du spinnst.”
I think about the friends we left behind that inhuman wall. Those we didn’t dare tell about the tunnel. I wake up shivering. All I can smell is mud and the last thing I saw was a shotgun in my face.
Liz McGrath is a budding poet and flash fiction writer. She lives and works in London as a Senior Creative Copywriter. She studied English at Cambridge and recently graduated from Birkbeck with a Creative Writing MA. She is currently working on her first poetry chapbook and drinking too much coffee. Twitter: @McGrath_Writes.
The Centifictionist 
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