The line is Ouroboros in shabby coats.
Ahead, the guard beckons the frontmost applicant forward. His coat is an incongruously cheery blue. He stares at the applicant, a stolid woman in
late middle age.
“Have you ever loved a man to exhaustion out of hatred?” the guard
asks.
The woman stammers.
The guard gestures with his rifle.
“Denied. Next!”
A young man, fresh-faced and stubbly.
“What is the day and hour that you will die?”
The youth is bold. “Not today.”
The guard sneers. “Denied.”
The line snakes on, out the door and beyond. The sun has not yet risen.
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