“I don’t want to go,” he whimpered and squeezed his mother’s hand.
“You don’t have a choice, Zachary. You have to.”
The line moved forward. So did they.
“Papers?” said a man in uniform, and Zach’s mother passed over the binder. He didn’t even open it, just threw it on the stack behind him. “Through the arch, sixth door on the right. Next!”
His mother guided him to the designated room and kissed him goodbye before closing him inside. Pallid concrete walls pocked with small holes surrounded him.
Malodorous gases flooded the room through the hissing holes, and Zach slept.
This story was written for Friday Fictioneers. As you may have noticed I wasn’t around last week. I’d like to blame being too busy with the rest of my life, but the truth is I just haven’t been feeling like writing lately. I’m starting to get back into the writing mindset, but I’m still a bit off my game if I’m being honest.