I’d gone partying the night before heading to Bogotá. Only booze, from what I can remember. After stumbling across the gangway at Frankfurt during a layover, I’m suddenly in a heart-racing haze at security, an officer observing my disoriented self, swabbing my belongings for “substances.” Maybe I could pass for a mule? Like a comedy mime, the officer rakes through my innocent electronics and cosmetics, unearthing a compact mirror. You know, for powdering my nose. Meeting my gaze with a smirk, he marvels at his reflection in it like Narcissus, flips it shut, checks the swab results. Free to go.
Vicki Leigh is a UK-based writer who has also been featured by Globe Soup and Fusilli Flash Fiction. Writing is like exhaling for her, and her Instagram is @vicalicalic.