At the Borders

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.

Anchor Changeling

"Absolutely not!"

"Don't see why," the goblin sniffed. "Writ down, 'tis!"

"Because he wasn't born in the United States. You swapped him with another newborn."

"Same thing. He come to the world in that time and place."

"Under a false name!"

The goblin blinked at the ICE agent. "All names be false. How d'ye come to be a heapin' big feller like yerself wi'out knowin' that?"

"Look, he's not a citizen, and you can't use him to stay. End of discussion."

"As ye wish," the goblin grinned. "I've a new request."

"What?"

"Me adopted son wants to visit his homeland."