The border guard shouts words I don’t know, dropping my passport into a locked box strapped to his waist. Machine gun muzzle jerks from my forehead to the empty platform beside the train. I disembark and march toward a lone brick building. Why didn't I tell my parents where I was going? I stare at the mute faces on the train, imploring anyone to meet my eyes. Remember me, the student far from home, in case I don't come back. Someone tell them. Amid miles of fallow land, from horizon to horizon, I feel as alone as a shallow grave.
E.O. Connors's work has appeared in The Furious Gazelle, Lowestoft Chronicle, Rutgers College Quarterly, and Dungeon. She writes travel humor essays at eoconnors.substack.com Facebook and Instagram @eoconnors