[ WP ] `` Your card has been rejected . ''

I finally stumble forward at the front of the queue. Official readers sit at a long table, each dressed in white and holding a small machine. They say nothing but the few scripted sentences on the sheet in front of them. 
 
 `` Please step forward,'' the one in front of me instructs. My feet drag towards them reluctantly. I almost drop the flimsy piece of plastic in my hand. 
 
 The reader holds out her hand. She's tall and has the blank stare of a porcelain statue. Her brown curls are stark against the white of her uniform and there is barely anything left in her slate coloured eyes. 
 
 `` Present your card.'' I hand it to her. It glints at me in the fluorescent light. 
 
 In a single swipe, whether or not I live will be determined. Around me, the relieved sighs or defeated cries melt into a buzz in my ears. My reader's slender fingers slowly but firmly press the plastic through the machine. 
 
 It beeps. It flashes. Her slate eyes look up to me. 
 
 `` I'm very sorry. Your card has been rejected.''
