Identity Crisis

"Can I see some identification?"

The traffic cop's declaration burst through his moustache, along with flecks of saliva. His eyes hid behind aviators. His considerably bulky torso balanced atop two svelte legs in leather boots. He had obviously put some time in at the constabulary gymnasium. Though innocent of traffic violations, I acquiesced.

"Here, copper. Up to date, right and proper."

He grasped the card in his swollen mitt. His moustache twitched, rodent-like, as he read the card. He took a Pink Pearl eraser from his breast-pocket, and furiously began to erase my photo and information (I was not aware driver's licenses were erasable.)

I pleaded. "Stop! Don't erase that! I drive for my job! Please," but he did not even deign to acknowledge me.

I wept. Wiping away tears, I noticed my face lacked its distinctive topography; my beetle-brow, high cheekbones and prominent Italian nose, all gone. I quit the water-works and adjusted my rear view mirrors so I could see myself in them.

The face I saw was not  the one I had acquainted myself with over the decades, but rather a crude sketch in a constant stage of deterioration. In several seconds I saw my eyes and mouth completely rub themselves out (how I saw this is a mystery), leaving only a schematic cross on the quickly-drawn hardboiled egg of my head.

The next dearest quality to be annihilated was my opacity, followed by my existence. I was still able to see when my body faded into nonexistence. The only survivor was my stream of consciousness, a perpetual flow of words madly searching for some receptacle to shield me from deletion. In this bodiless state, I entered this realm of electronic impulses. I hope to spread my soul across these pages. In this way I shall cheat...

WORD LIMIT REACHED: 300 WORDS : DAILY FLASHFIC 09/10/14