Flash Fiction: The Ochre Hotel of Stockholm by Kirby Wright

Spray us yellow. It will stand out from the red hotels claiming Gamla Stan. We were only the second boarding house to hang a vacancy sign, the first kaput before the war. Flanking us is a canal filled with lily pads and Storkyrkan, the brick Church built during the Dark Ages. Tourists use Monk’s Bridge to reach the Church, where cars race on a freeway below it.

Past residents? Victims of the plague, a garrison of soldiers, and that bald hooker with the gold-studded tongue. There was also the defrocked priest chanting psalms during Holy Week. I am pleased those gay men still rent our garret, going on eleven years.

We will sniff defeat if rival hotels copy. Imagine Old Town flooding with hues of piss? Nobody will know where to go. Tourists lost. We might consider pink. Nobody dares. But guests would remember pink, even the Americans. Being remembered is everything.

Kirby Wright was born and raised in Honolulu, Hawaii. He is a graduate of Punahou School in Honolulu and the University of California at San Diego. Wright received his MFA in Creative Writing from San Francisco State University. His first play was produced at the Secret Theatre’s 2016 One Act Festival in New York.

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