We are so very tired. Half a world we’ve walked, through snow, rain, and baking sun. And everywhere they say, go back. The unwanted—that’s what we are.

The border post looms ahead. There are men there with dogs—hard men with grim faces. Even at this time of year, when they’re celebrating the birth of a baby to a refugee couple. Bells toll and sirens blare.

Am I not a person too? But of course I am not. I am just a problem, without face or history. And there is nobody to part the Red Sea for us.

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Friday fictioneers is a weekly challenge set by Rochelle Wisoff Fields to write a 100-word story in response to a photo prompt. You can find other stories here