“Come with me!” ordered the hostile crumpled face, as she walked ahead with my future in her hands. Each step behind the greying curls was weighed down by exhaustion, my encroaching fear threatened with the rancid taste of bile.
“Leave all your belongings here. Someone will come get you.”
“Please, sorry … I don’t understand, what is going on?”
“Again, leave your belongings; someone will come when they’re ready.”
Dismayed and motionless, my eyes followed the little green book fading down the corridor… my Passport.
My Love, waiting for me on the other side of Customs with bated breath.
All Writing.Com images are copyrighted and may not be copied / modified in any way. All other brand names & trademarks are owned by their respective companies.
Generated in 0.08 seconds at 9:57am on Dec 22, 2024 via server WEBX2.
View Portfolio
Visit Notebook
Send Gift Points
Awards
Badges
Send Email
Community Newsfeed
General Discussion
Sponsored Items
Book of Trinkets
Static Items
Books
Groups
Interactive Stories
Audio
Campfire Creatives
Community Notes
Crossword Puzzles
Documents
Folders
Images
In & Outs
Madlibs
Photo Albums
Polls
Product Reviews
Quizzes
Survey Forms
Web Pages
Word Searches
