Finding New Paths: My Tale of Discovery

by Lyza Fennell | Jun 8, 2025 | Writing

Finding New Paths: My Tale of Discovery

What is etched in clay is my story.

I saw a glimpse of it one day. I walked, in solitude, into the forest when I came upon it. A tablet with my story. I didn’t like what I read. I panicked. I felt unsafe. No; who wrote this for me? I wouldn’t have. Did I land here on this Earth accidentally and come upon a life already etched in clay?

My eyes darted. I slowly turned myself in a circle, my eyes looking up and down, my ears pricked for any noises, my skin for any reaction, and smell. What was that smell? It was damp. I am in the woods, and it has rained. The sun does not find me.

I found a stick, too flimsy. I found another one. Yes, this will do. Its tip is damp, jagged, broken from its branch. It told me it didn’t belong in this forest either.

Together we walked to the inscription in the clay. With all my determination, we tried to scratch the words, change the meaning, tell a new story.

The stick continued with all its might, with my strength behind it. My feet firm on the ground, pushing, my legs strong for balance and to provide additional support. My torso leaning, my shoulders, arms, hands, fingers holding the stick, pushing against the clay.

But the stick broke and fell to the ground. “I’m sorry I let you down,” we said simultaneously.

Then it told me, “Find the stream, but you must find a way to gather its gift.”

“But how?” I respond, my eyes searching.

Desperately, I get the urge to move. An anger washes over me; how can my life be already written, I did not plan it. I kick the tablet with all my might. Kick, kick, kick. Three times.

Then I walk over to it and move behind it. It’s resting on a fallen tree, so innocent, so naturally.

Who am I to change it? And still, I must.

I look around. A skinny tree is behind me, fighting for its place in the forest, reaching for the sun. It is not too young. It can help.

I grasp its trunk. Its deciduous leaves greet me with a gentle song. It’s a birch, I realize, my favorite tree.

“I come in peace, my friend,” I say to it and bow my head. “This tablet has a story etched on its face, claiming to be my life unfolding. But I do not like what comes next. I’ve never belonged, you know, but there is cruelty in its script.”

The tree’s leaves rustled and stood strong, and still. I leaned in and gave it a kiss. Its papery surface felt smooth on my lips.

“Thank you,” I whisper.

I put my hand against it again and push with my foot, pulling all the strength from body and the birch tree’s steadiness.

Yes! It falls to the ground. I pat the tree and smirk, then walk back over to the tablet. The words are now hidden.

So, what does this mean? I look around for an answer. I stand in front of it, legs spread out, my arms both outstretched, and I close my eyes.

I see a stone come into view in my mind’s eye. I open my eyes, bring my feet together and lower my arms.

“I’ll be back,” I announce, then pivot and walk away.

The ground beneath me is soft. The composted leaves and needles cushion my steps.

From the corner of my left eye, I see a set of rocks stacked in front of the trunk of an old oak tree. I immediately go over. I kneel before it.

“Thank you. I’ve always believed in rocks. I love you. You’re magical.”

I pull out my shirt to create a pocket to carry.

I take one stone at a time, until I could hold no more.

“I’ll be back,” I say and walk back. But where is it? I’m sure it was here.

Carrying my rocks, held in my shirt, I walk around. But now I am lost.

How far did I walk?

How could this be?

I look for my birch and the fallen tree.

My arm feels tired. I look for a place to sit.

In the near distance, I see another fallen tree. I walk to it, my legs feel heavy. I’m dragging.

I crouch down and gently place my rocks on the ground. I sit on the tree’s trunk and rest. I notice the light. It is fading. I must exit the forest. I search for a clearing to walk toward that is yet unseen.

Can I really leave my story behind?

Author’s Note: This story emerged from a moment of reckoning—a time when I questioned the path that seemed laid out before me. I wrote it as a way of exploring choice, resistance, and the quiet possibility of renewal.

Matters of Great Concern

by Lyza Fennell | Feb 16, 2025 | Writing

Matters of Great Concern

“I matter,” says Suzi proudly.

Geri smiles sympathetically, her red lips pressed tight, holding the truth, not knowing how to break the news. Just do it, her mind urges.

Geri’s lips part. “Oh, Suzi, I’m sorry to tell you—you’re wrong. You don’t matter.”

Suzi blinks.

“I believe you used to,” Geri continues, earnestly. “I truly do. But there’s a New World Order now, and I have a list of who matters and who doesn’t. I don’t see your name on it.”

She holds up a clipboard, tapping the paper with her manicured nail.

“It’s true,” she says. “The only people who matter now don’t have nicknames as legal names. We only recognize proper names—Suzanne, Jennifer, Michael, Anthony. You get it, right? People who don’t matter are the ones whose birth certificates list their names as Suzi, Jenny, Mike, and Tony. People went too far with their liberties.”

She shrugs. “Don’t worry—you can still exist here. You can still live freely. It’s just that… you won’t matter.”

Suzi stares at her, then sinks into the cold metal folding chair at the unemployment office on Main Street.

“This doesn’t make any sense,” she says. “Why would that matter?”

“I’m afraid everything matters now,” Geri replies. “Except for you, of course.”

Suzi folds her arms. “That sounds so arbitrary. I mean, we didn’t have a choice in how our parents named us.”

“I realize this may come as a surprise,” Geri says smoothly. “Obviously, your parents were free thinkers and, well… people can’t think for themselves anymore.”

She smiles with her lips but squeezes her eyes shut.

Suzi glances down, then back at her. “If we can’t think for ourselves… do any of us matter?”

Geri hesitates. “Perhaps you’re right. I haven’t read through the entire manual yet.”

Suzi leans forward. “But isn’t Geri short for Geraldine?”

Before Geri can answer, a man appears in the doorway. He wears a gray three-button suit and brown loafers, as if he stepped straight out of 1982. His graying hair is combed neatly over his balding head.

“Hello, ladies,” he says.

Suzi eyes him warily, distrusting this blast from the past.

Geri straightens. “Hello, sir.”

“I’ll need the two of you to come with me,” he says, tucking his clipboard under his arm.

Geri smiles, lifting her manual. “There’s been some mistake. I have a copy of the rules. That means I still matter.”

The man shakes his head. “We’ve made some adjustments. You’ll need to come with us too.”

His voice is calm but firm.

A pause.

Then—”Hurry up, ladies. The bus is waiting.”

Mullet Town

by Lyza Fennell | Nov 9, 2024 | Playwriting

A One-Act Play

CAST OF CHARACTERS

AMBER- Early twenties. She is a young, hip artist. Wears stylish, trendy clothes. Hair: shoulder length (one length).

ANNIE- Mid-forties; plain woman, friendly. Wears plaid flannel shirts tucked in with brown slacks. Hair: Mullet.

VIC- Mid-forties; confident and cocky. Wears cheap suits and skinny ties. Hair: Mullet.

JIMMY- Mid-forties; tries too hard. Wears well-worn wrinkled shirts with ill-fitting black dress pants. Hair: Mullet.

EXTRAS- Mid-forties. Varied office attire. Hair: Mullets.

SETTING: Four desks and chairs are set up in a minimal-looking office.

TIME: The year is 2008. Despite the turn of the millennium, this office and its workers remain a tribute to the past.

ACT I, Scene One

AT RISE: ANNIE, JIMMY and EXTRAS are sitting at desks. THEY all have MULLETS.

AMBER walks onto stage as she steps through the door for the first time. She gawks at everyone’s hair.

ANNIE

(Rises from her desk) You must be Amber. Joan from Staffed To Be Sure called and said you were on your way. (Extends hand) I’m Annie. You’ll be filling in as an assistant.

AMBER

(Doubtfully) Well, I’m not sure how long I’ll be here. (Looks around at everyone, noting hairstyles and grimacing). Probably just today.

ANNIE

(Assuredly) Oh, the first day is always nerve-wracking. You’ll be fine. Joan tells me you’re an artist. You can really help us get some culture in here.

AMBER

(Meekly) Yes, I’m sure you’re right.

ANNIE

Everyone, this is Amber. She’s filling in for Karen while she’s on maternity leave.

Greetings from ALL

AMBER

(Tries to be friendly, forces a contorted smile) Hi Everyone.

ANNIE

You can take Karen’s desk right here (gestures to the desk next to JIMMY). Lucky us, we’re deskmates (jovially).

AMBER

(Abashed) Great.

AMBER slips into her chair and slips her bag under the desk. She has a look of discontent on her face.

JIMMY

(Turning to AMBER, tries to come across as suave) Wow, it’s great to meet you (looks her up and down). Do you, ah, live around here? Are you, ah, new in town?

AMBER

(Recoils) Yes, I’m new.

She starts fussing with items on the desk, avoiding his conversation.

JIMMY

(Still looking at AMBER) It’s just that I haven’t seen you around town. You ever go shopping, or to the park? Pretty girl like you must have a busy life, you single?

AMBER

(Restrained) Hmmm, well I’d rather stick to my work than talk about my personal life. (As in shut up) No offense.

AMBER looks around to see if she notices anyone with a regular haircut. She returns her attention to her desk and avoids looking at JIMMY’S face.

JIMMY

(Sits back, gestures hands out to show it’s no big deal) Hey, no offense taken here, we can be office buds. (HE turns back to face his desk.)

AMBER

(Outwardly disdainful) Great. (Turns to ANNIE) So, what can I start on?

ANNIE

Ah, yes, let’s get these inputs into the computer.

She stands up with a stack of papers, then fiddles with AMBER’S computer.

ENTER VIC. He walks in and stops when he notices AMBER.

VIC

(Cheesy smile) Oh, now, Annie, you didn’t tell me we hired a sweet little lady.

ANNIE

(Smiling) Good morning, Vic; this is Amber. She’s filling in for Karen.

VIC

(Still smiling at AMBER, gestures a pregnant belly.) Yeah, that’s Karen. She’s good at making babies. What is that, five or six now?

AMBER

(With disgust) I’m sure I don’t know what you mean.

JIMMY

(Turns to VIC) Vic, this is a real feisty one. She doesn’t want to make friends with us oldies. Just look at her with her stylish hair and clothes.

AMBER

(Defensively) I don’t want to get off on the wrong foot here; I only want to do a good job on my first day.

VIC

(Sits on the edge of AMBER’S desk and leans in toward her.) Don’t you worry honey; I’m sure you’ll do fine.

ANNIE

(Slightly stern) Vic, get to work and leave her alone. She’s only just walked in the door; give her a break already.

VIC

(Playfully) Oh, Annie, you’re always on my back.

ANNIE

(Playing back) That’s enough, Vic. To your desk (she points to the back desk).

VIC

(To ANNIE) Okay, okay. (To JIMMY, intimately) Hey Jimmy, guess who I ran into on Saturday night?

JIMMY

(Juicing) Oh yeah, who’s that?

VIC

(Walks over to JIMMY’s desk) Monica. I was out cruisin’ in my Trans Am when I saw her. Man, she looked hot. She still has that gorgeous long blond feathered hair and legs up to her neck. (Shaking his head in loving disbelief) Yeah, so we went into Cliff’s Hangout, bada bing bada bam.

JIMMY

(Laughing) Vic, you’re too much. You really know how to find a good time.

AMBER looks horrified at the interaction between the two men.

ANNIE

Now, Boys, get back to work. You’ll scare the new girl (she looks at AMBER she smiles).

AMBER feigns a smile back. VIC sits at his desk. ALL put their heads down to work.

Beat

ANNIE

(Standing) It looks like it’s lunchtime, Amber. Come, join me. I’ll introduce you around.

AMBER

Thanks, Annie.

AMBER stands and grabs her bag. ALL walk offstage single file.

BLACKOUT

ACT I, Scene Two

ENTER ANNIE and AMBER: They walk on stage, with the front lights on, as if walking down a hallway.

ANNIE

How do you like it here so far, Amber? Any questions? Is Vic a bit intense for you?

AMBER

I guess so. He does seem a little oblivious.

ANNIE

(Laughs) Ha! Yes, well, Vic can be a bit oblivious. He was (uses quotation mark hands) “The Cool Guy” back in high school. All the girls loved him. I guess he never grew out of that. He’s harmless though, once you get to know him. Underneath it all he’s a big puppy dog.

AMBER

Are you guys all related?

ANNIE

That’s a funny question, why do you ask that?

AMBER

Well, you look similar. I can see a resemblance.

ANNIE

Oh, well, I guess if you work with someone long enough, you can start to blend in together.

AMBER

How long have you all known each other?

ANNIE

Oh, the boys and me, we go way back. Farmingdale High, class of eighty-four. (Shaking her head) They haven’t changed a bit.

AMBER

Yes, I can see that. (Looks at ANNIE’S hair). Do you guys ever get out of town, or you’ve stayed here your whole lives?

ANNIE

(Proudly) Been here my whole life. How ‘bout you, what’s your story?

AMBER

My parents bought a house over on Elm Street. They wanted a quieter life. My mother said Manhattan was suffocating her so, they moved out here. She wants to concentrate on her painting. Then, when I graduated from college last year, I moved back home to be with them. They want me to apply to graduate school. So, I’m doing that while trying to get my art portfolio together. I figured working through the temp agency would make me some money while I’m here.

ANNIE

Wow, sounds like you’ve had an exciting life so far.

AMBER

Well, I just want to get my career started. I’ve been working with a gallery owner at night. He says he can help. I hope so. I’ll be leaving here as soon as I can. I just need a break, for someone to discover me.

ANNIE

Well, I hope not too soon. We’re just getting to know ya.

BLACKOUT

ACT I, Scene 3

TIME: One month later.

AT RISE: Everyone is sitting at their desks.

AMBER has become accustomed to everyone’s style. Although, she is still embarrassed about where she works. She rushes into the office, everyone is already at their seats.

ANNIE

(Curiously) You’re late?

AMBER

(Apologetically) Sorry about that, I was up late last night working on an installment piece for the gallery.

ANNIE

(Excited) Busy girl, I can’t wait to see it. When’s the opening? Are you having a party?

AMBER

(Flustered) Oh, well, I’m not sure there will be a party. And if there were one, I’m sure you’re much too busy. I’m sure you wouldn’t want to go anyway…

ANNIE

(Winking) Nonsense, never too busy for a friend.

AMBER

(Appreciative) Gee, thanks.

ANNIE

(Earnestly) Amber, I’d like to talk to you about something. And I ‘d really like you to consider it. We’d really like you to join us here full time, honey. You’re doing a great job and I think you really fit in here nicely.

AMBER

Thank you for saying that, Annie; I really do appreciate it, but I’m really concentrating on getting my art career started.

ANNIE

Well, that certainly is understandable, but it’s very hard, honey. You could do this job as a base for yourself. So you don’t get too lost—

AMBER

I’d be worried if I had a full-time office job…here… that I would lose my artistic style and vision.

ANNIE

Well, please just consider it. The offer is there.

AMBER

Okay, thanks, Annie.

VIC

(Gets up and walks over to AMBER’S desk) Hey baby, when are you going out on a date with me?

AMBER

(Flatly, without humor) In your dreams, Vic. And it’s Amber; I’m not your baby.

VIC

Hey, I went by your gallery last night, so I went in looking for you.

AMBER

(Astonished, with underlying suspicion) You did not. You actually asked for me?

VIC

(Dismissive) Of course, I did. Some guy with some frilly name said you’d already left. And I have to say, they call that art? I could make that stuff in my garage.

AMBER

Ugh. You don’t understand art at all. You didn’t say anything did you?

VIC

Why, do I embarrass you around your “art friends?” I have a right to my own opinion and the stuff in there was pure junk. I’m telling you, I could’ve done better in high school shop class.

AMBER

It’s called sculpture, and Serge is an acclaimed artist. I really hope you didn’t get into it with him.

VIC

Well, it’s not my style anyway. That guy is full of crap with his tight sweaters and skinny pants. And what kind of hair was that?

AMBER

(Piqued) Serge’s hair? Vic, the eighties, called; they said they wanted their hairstyle back.

VIC

(Goading) It looks like you’re the odd one out here. When are you going to cut your hair?

AMBER

Ewww, and when are you going to get rid of that car?

VIC

(Laughing) Oh, Amber, you’re a funny one. I’ll see you later (He walks to his desk).

ANNIE

(Fetching) You and Vic have gotten chummy.

AMBER

(Shrugging, a touch dismissive) Yeah, whatever. He’s still a bit much with that mullet. (Grimacing, she puts her hand over her mouth, looking at ANNIE’s hair.) Oh, sorry, Annie.

ANNIE

Mullet? What’s that? You mean our hairstyles?

AMBER

Annie, have you ever noticed when you’re out, say, at a store in another town or at the mall?

ANNIE

Oh, no, I never go to the mall, too expensive.

AMBER

But don’t you see that you guys have hair, unlike anyone else? I mean, what are the chances of everyone working here having the same hair?

ANNIE

Really? My hair? I love my hair. It’s so easy to maintain, it’s long and flowing in the back, yet it never gets in my way. Look at you. You’re always fussing with your hair, don’t get me wrong, you look very pretty. Heh, I mean, I can see why Vic likes you.

AMBER

Oh, never mind the hair. I apologize if I offended you.

ANNIE

Is that why you never want to go out with us?

AMBER

Oh god Annie, is that what you think? Of course not, Annie, you know how busy I’ve been with the gallery. I don’t have time to hang out with anyone.

ANNIE

Yes, but you don’t want any of us coming there. Oh, I am sorry that we embarrass you.

AMBER

No, I’m sorry, you guys are good people. I have nothing against you. Hey, I know. How about I introduce you to my hairstylist, Annie? We’ll have a girl’s night out. We can get our hair and nails done, put on some fancy clothes, and go out for a drink. You’ll love it, Annie, really. Can we forget my slip of the tongue?

ANNIE

Oh honey, you’re sweet. That sounds like fun, but I don’t think I’m ready to change my hair. I really do love it. I never really noticed my hair was different.

AMBER

Yes, but Annie, just think about it: if I helped you with a makeover, You might get some hits on your online dating service. You’re such a sweet person. You just need a bit of help updating your image.

ANNIE

We’ll have to see about that.

BLACKOUT

ACT I, Scene 4

AT RISE: AMBER alone on stage, spotlight on her. The background is dark.

AMBER

I feel so bad about what I said to Annie. How can I be so shallow? But, I can’t believe I’m still here, I thought for sure it would be just one day. I pleaded with the agency to move me somewhere else… I mean really, this atmosphere is awful. What is wrong with these people? Can’t anyone talk some sense into them? How could I find an office filled with mullets? The ugliest hairstyle of all times. You wouldn’t believe it if I wrote it in a story. And they make me (pointing inward) feel like the odd one out!

(Emphatically) I am not the strange one here. I will not be brought down to their acid washed level.

(Yelling offstage to wings) C’mon people get a grip! There’s a whole world out there! A whole world that… that doesn’t have a mullet!

(Quiet again) I mean- they’re good people and all. But, I could never hang out in public with them looking like that. It’s as if they’re in a time warp circa 1982.

ENTER ANNIE, JIMMY, VIC and EXTRAS, in a trance-like manner, all carrying scissors in their hands. AMBER stops talking to look at THEM coming.

ALL (but AMBER)

(Chanting) Mullet, Mullet, Mullet.

AMBER

(Looking around, confused) No!

THEY come at her, chopping their scissors. She falls to the ground as they stand over her.

ALL (except AMBER)

(Chanting) Mullet, Mullet, Mullet.

AMBER

(Screams) No! You can’t make me do it. I won’t, no!

Beat

THEY walk away from AMBER, still trance-like. SHE’S curled up in a ball on the floor, whimpering. She stands up with scissors in her hand, feeling her hair.

AMBER

(Looking at scissors) No! No! Is there a mirror anywhere?

She runs to center stage and uses the audience as a mirror.

AMBER

A mullet? On me? Oh, what has happened to me? Is this a terrible dream? When did I become one of them? I never meant to let it happen! Did I do this? Why do I have scissors in my hand? I’ve got to get out of this job- they’re turning me. I never wanted to lose my sense of self; it was only supposed to be temporary! I don’t want to be one of them! (Looking intently in the “mirror,” she starts preening herself.) Why it’s, it’s… so comfortable, so free. Why, I don’t mind it at all. In fact, if I just throw a pin in it, I think I can get away with it. It really doesn’t look too bad. I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I like it; it feels good. (Justifying) I can still be hip. Maybe I’ll even set a new trend with my friends. I haven’t lost my mind have I? Just wait until they all see in the morning.

BLACKOUT

ACT I, Scene 5

Time: The following day-Morning.

ENTER AMBER. She walks into the office sporting her new mullet. EVERYONE is sitting at desks. She looks around as EVERYONE has had a new haircut without mullets.

AMBER

Hi, every-—no! What’s going on?

ANNIE

(Looks up, noticing AMBER’S hair) Hi Amber, why look, you got your haircut.

AMBER

(Pointing at each) And so have you, Jimmy, Vic, Bob, and Suzanne. How can this be?

ANNIE

Amber, we have to keep up with the times, don’t we? That is, if we’re going to hang with a hip youngster like you.

AMBER

I just didn’t realize I had such an impact on you guys. I mean, you’ve all been working together for twenty years, and you never changed before.

ANNIE

Honey, your opinion is important to us. Hey, did they set a date for your exhibit?

AMBER

(Deflated) No, It was canceled. Serge said something about not having enough funding or interest, or something. I guess he doesn’t think I’m ready.

ANNIE

I’m sorry, honey; I know how much it meant to you. If you keep working at it, you’ll get there soon enough.

VIC

(Looks up from his desk, smiling) Hey AMBER, nice hair, wow! I never thought we’d convert you.

AMBER

(Still in shock) But, your hair is short; you cut off your mullet.

VIC

Yeah, well, I was tired of you riding me about it, so, uh, after work last night, we all decided to cut them all off. I tell ya, I can’t believe I didn’t do this a long time ago. It feels strange, but it feels good—no more long hair scratching at my neck.

AMBER scrambles in her bag, looking for hair clips. SHE frantically starts putting her hair up and back so it no longer looks like a mullet.

VIC

So, now that I cut my hair, will you go out with me?

AMBER

(Feeling better with her hair up) Yeah, right, Vic, just look at the way you dress.

END Of PLAY

young woman with a mullet hairstyle with a white brick background

Author’s Note: “Mullet Town” was inspired by my own experience of culture shock after moving from London to western Massachusetts. When I took a temp job at a large office, I was shocked to discover that mullets—a hairstyle I thought had been left in the 1980s—were alive and thriving among my new coworkers. This piece playfully captures that bewildering moment when time seems frozen and you realize that some trends refuse to die, no matter how much the world changes.

No Hope at the DMV

by Lyza Fennell | Nov 7, 2024 | Writing

No Hope at the DMV

Hope walks down the stark hallway. The building was unusually quiet. She finds the sign for the DMV, opens the door, and walks up to the teller. There are no lines.

She says “Hi, my name is Hope and I lost my ID. Can I get a new one?”

The teller looks at the woman named Hope and says, “Sorry, we don’t have any IDs with that name. We have ‘Despair,’ ‘Devastated,’ or ‘We’re All Fucked.’ You pick.”

The woman previously named Hope says, “Are those the only names you have? They are all kind of ugly and gloomy.”

The teller looks at the woman known as Hope on November 4th and says, “Well, We got ‘Misogyny,’ ‘Racist,’ ‘Homophobe,’ ‘Transphobe,’ and here’s a good one. It starts with X but not like the Twitter X, it’s ‘Xenophobe.’ You could call yourself Xena for short.”

The former Hope says, “God, Those are all awful. What else do you have?” she asks, hopefully.

The teller looks at her. The teller’s expression is stoic. “Sure, we got ‘Government Ruling Women’s Bodies,’ ‘White Supremacy,’ or ‘Christian Nationalism.’ You could go by Body, Whitey, Christian, or Chrissy. But that’s all I got. Oh wait, there’s ‘Stripping the Country of its Safety Net.’ You could go by Netty.”

The previously known woman named Hope says “Those are just awful names. Don’t you have something like Sue or Bev or Jennifer?” The teller looks at the woman, sympathetically.

“I’m sorry, honey, All the good names shattered into 70 million pieces all over the floor. I have shard sticking in my feet still, like painful memories of what once was.”

The woman without a name leans her elbows on the counter. “Gee, did it really happen that fast? All gone in 70 million pieces?”

The teller shrugs their shoulders, “Give or take.”

The nameless woman says, “Gee, is there really no Hope?”

The teller shakes their head, “Nah.”

The woman with no ID replies, “Gosh, Those aren’t good names to choose from. Is that all I have to choose from?”

The teller raises an eyebrow. “Lady, you better pick one before the government issues you one. You won’t have a choice soon. Women lose all their rights. They will be controlled by men whether they like it or not. I suggest the name ‘Racist.’ You could call yourself Race. That sounds like a strong man’s name. Strong, manly men with insecurities have all the power now. So just deepen your voice a bit; maybe cut your hair short because the new ruling class has short hair—if you ask me, they really lack flare—and depending on your penmanship, You could try to Macho up your handwriting.”

The woman with no good choices for a name, or anything else for that matter, drops her head into her hands, shaking her head. She says, “How can this be? I had so much Hope in me. These choices are awful. This world you’re describing is horrible.”

The teller shrugs, “Yeah, you’re telling me. Dreams are gone now, too.”

The woman mourning the loss of her name says, “No! Really? Oh, this is terrible, simply terrible.”

The teller says, “Yeah. Well, the people voted, so that’s it. Look, I’m sure this is shocking for you, but I got to get out of here before the passport window closes. So, can you pick a name?”

The unnamed woman replies, “No, No, I can’t. I’ll have to keep looking for my ID. Thank you for your help, and good luck.”

The unnamed woman turns to leave. The teller calls back to her, “They confiscated all Hope IDs. You won’t find it anywhere!”

The woman continues to leave, and the teller shouts, “There is no Hope!”