Micah Zarin's Blog

The man at the counter did not look up. His gray eyes flickered over the papers, bored.

“State your name.”

“Emil Koretz.”

A pause. A checkmark. A stamp.

“Your appeal has been reviewed.”

Emil exhaled, steadying himself. “And?”

“Denied.”

His fingers curled against the desk. “On what grounds?”

The gray-eyed man didn’t shift, didn’t waver. “The Department of Understanding has determined that no misunderstanding has occurred.”

Emil swallowed. “Then why am I here?”

A sigh—not impatient, not irritated. Simply procedure. “You submitted a Petition for Understanding. All such petitions are processed.”

“Yes, but if nothing can be changed, what is the point?”

“The point is that you are heard.”

A silence.

Emil’s voice was quieter now. “My wife is gone.”

The gray eyes flicked toward him. Then away.

“That is unfortunate.”

“I don’t know where they took her. I don’t know what law she broke. I don’t even know who ‘they’ are.”

Another checkmark. Another stamp.

“That is not a misunderstanding.”

A tightness in his chest. “Then what is it?”

For a moment, the gray-eyed man hesitated. A brief, almost imperceptible pause. Then he shut the folder.

“An understanding.”

The air in the room did not shift. The lights buzzed, the cameras hummed. The doors remained locked.

The man at the counter gestured toward the exit.

“Next.”