She feels free if not entirely painless. Spending half her adolescence teetering on her mother’s heels, working her way from sensible hockey ref to drop dead diva with six inch stilettos, her calves twinged, her toes cramped. The man at the desk doesn’t buy it.

Damn, that’s old me’s passport.

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5 thoughts on “PASSPORT

    • I am curious about your comment, Jacqueline. I wasn’t aware of any ‘stir and confusion’, unless it was a case of predictive text gremlins and your ‘must’ became a ‘most.’ But, in that case, it might be a question but there’s no ?.
      To address your comment, I really don’t mind if this or any other 50 word story of mine causes stir and confusion. Indeed, I welcome it. Fiction is about making us look at the world in different ways and, I believe, challenge our own ways.

      • Oh I just saw that. It’s ‘must’ have caused a stir to the passport control officer. How one word can make a difference. Reading your short write – I imagined the writer (the image) being at passport control trying to cross the border and being detained based on the grounds that the photo in the passport and the person before them look totally different.

      • That’s exactly what I meant, if you’ll pardon me, on the face of it. I also want to question the concept of identity, since, clearly, it means many different things on many different levels. As far as the person in the story is concerned, her identity has changed but as far as the administrator at the desk, faced with physical evidence and an admin contradiction, they’re prepared to accept the latter over the former.

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