The Death of a Passport

About The Death of a Passport

It was quiet again in the house at the midpoint of that chilling January night in Vancouver. So quiet that even blinking of the eyes could be heard back in a hollow echo. Not only that; the noiseless breathing of Amroz from his crib in Seema’s bedroom upstairs was also distinctly audible in the family room below where she pined and simmered every night until Anmol’s undesired arrival from where, she didn’t know. Her fright at the fitful humming of the fridge and the emptiness of the huge residential structure magnified as she scanned its sprawling kitchen from the family room. “Seema, you’re like an ant in this elephantine house,” she whispered to herself as her body shivered inexplicably on realizing, that she was only another item, an unwanted presence, in that lavishly furnished, two-story detached. The sporadic crackling of wood in the fireplace echoed an accurate accordance with the commotion of thoughts cackling in her head: the ceaseless weaving and unweaving of plans for her evasive future.....