They say a picture is worth a thousand words-maybe even more. What about I.D.'s? I.D.s represent a small window into a person's life. Unfortunately for me, I didn't have one, which brings me to the amorous DMV. If my next picture stood for anything, it would be the epitome of personal hell and damnation.
In the sterile glow of the DMV, where identities are stamped and sealed, I stood, a man without an I.D., a ghost in the system. If my next snapshot could speak, it would scream of personal purgatory, a visage marred by bureaucratic limbo.
The onslaught on my persona commenced a fortnight past.
Enshrouded in darkness, I stood center stage, the heart of an unseen coliseum. A tempest raged beyond the walls, its fury a prelude to my moment of destiny. My name echoed through the void—Luke Sanders!—a clarion call met by lightning's flash and the thunderous ovation of unseen multitudes. Their zeal was my sustenance; I was poised to deliver the oration of a lifetime (nerves be damned).
I delivered each word with practiced poise, a cascade of gratitude: "I wish to extend my deepest thanks to my team," my voice wavered, "to my mother, absent in form but ever-present in spirit," a light-hearted jest followed, "and to all of you, the beating heart of this journey!"
The lights, capricious as fate, flickered into a strobe, casting me as the nucleus of a thousand gazes. The crowd, a sea of shadows, morphed before me. I spied a face among them, a stranger with intentions as clear as the emerald gaze that ensnared me. Your beauty, a siren's call, sent me spiraling into disarray, my words faltering, my composure fracturing. The crowd's mirth shifted, their laughter now a cacophony of scorn.
The air grew thick, the heat of a thousand stares scorching my skin. My palms, slick with dread, betrayed my inner inferno. The laughter, sharp as blades, sliced through my resolve (I am not nervous, I am resolute).
Constriction. Palpitation. Desperation. The symptoms of my demise crescendoed as I gasped for salvation. My mind, once an ally, now broadcast my fears on the loudspeaker of my psyche.
Retreating from the lectern, I sought refuge, my departure that of a fool fleeing his court. The tremors seized me, a harbinger of my end. The crowd's jeers morphed into spectral accusations: "Murderer! Killer!"
In my nadir, a maternal mantra surfaced: "Nothing has to mean anything if you don't want it to." Her voice, a beacon in the tempest, silenced the cacophony.
The storm abated. I reclaimed the stage, my exit now a stride of confidence. Our eyes met, yours alight with an incendiary spark that ignited my soul. If only you knew the conflagration within me (I am nervous).
Your smile, a dawn that banished the night of my fears, welcomed my approach.
"Hello," I ventured, the word a key turning the lock of possibility.
"Speaking first was a relief; I was at a loss for words. Your speech was remarkable—you owned it!" you praised.
In the embrace of this dream, let not the chime of reality intrude...
YOU ARE READING
I.D.
Mystery / ThrillerA young man, Luke Sanders discovers that his life is being monitored by a malicious group of hackers. His paranoid fears start to manifest in his waking life. In his fight to preserve his identity, he falls for one of the hackers.
