My Ranking Points
SORRY IT’S SHORT SORRY SORRY SORRRRRY
I opened my sleek computer and booked a ticket on the Dusty Star, a Commonwealth-renowned company of travel between Commonwealths to Commonwealth One.
My phone lit up. A message popped up from a number I didn’t recognize.
Iris Hart. 18 Blueberry Grove, Dandelion Suburb. 4’11” or something.
I rolled my eyes and texted back Sure.
I started packing my bag. Actually, I packed my cello case, stuffing money, documents, clothes and “Wildflower Blue Tulips” along with “Giant Deep Grey Fuchsias” in the crevices of space not taken up by the instrument.
I had booked the soonest journey, which was in two hours, and I left my house.
Just as I was locking the door, my nonbinary (FTX, if you ask, they didn’t seem to like “little girl” or “good boy” but responded well to “lovely one”) Siamese cat called Snapdragon jumped onto my shoulder.
“Guess you’re coming too, little one,” I sighed. “Alright. Hold on tight. We’re going to be late.”
“Name,” said the man with the fearsome moustache. We were alone, in an interrogation room. They found my flowers “suspicious”, though the poison was so well hidden and I had painted the petals and bent them so well they had no lead.
“Emilie Smokemist,” I said, lying fluently.
I handed over my pristine, wrinkle-free documents. Frowning, the border officer looked at them, was about to stamp one, then looked again.
“I’m afraid there’s a problem,” he said, eyeing Snapdragon who was making a slight yowling sound. “Your name doesn’t match up with the -”
“Snapdragon,” I said calmly. “Take him out.”