[ WP ] You land at a London Airport only to shortly realise that you are not in London but in a country you have never heard of its existence before .

The sound of hundreds of suitcases running down the long hallways was almost deafening at this time, the fluorescent lights flickering as we all paced towards the long travelators. I could hear a child crying from behind me, his mother had woke him up as she carried him off the plane. With every step I felt more relieved, my legs felt free again, I breathed a deep sigh of relief as I stepped onto the moving walkway, wheeling my suitcase beside me. It had been a long flight from Moscow, but a usual flight. This was the second time this month that I had made the journey, it was becoming more of a common commute. I stepped off the travelator and turned right, towards the immigration checkpoint, but there was a wall. For a moment I paused, confused, my sleep on the plane must have really thrown me off. I turned and followed the crowd, ducking my head as some younger travelers laughed at me. 
 
 I reached a large room, it must have been the new immigration area as I ’ ve never seen it before. I looked at the specific lines forming in front of the desks, they were divided into citizenship. One line was for European citizens, it was quite busy, the second line was for anyone outside of the EU, which was probably the biggest. The last line was for UK residents, well, it was meant to be. Above the line was a lit-up sign of a flag, a flag I haven ’ t recognised before, it was red with dark blue lines going horizontally across. I peered around the large room, surely there was a line for UK citizens, I didn ’ t want to wait in the EU line. 
 
 I walked over to the line I didn ’ t notice, perhaps there was a mistake. Luckily the line moved quickly as the immigration officers rushed them through. Before I reached the desk I took my passport from my suitcase, still unsure if I was in the right queue. 
 
 ‘ Next ’ the overweight officer yelled out, I approached the desk and handed over my passport, not sure what I was expecting. 
 
 ‘ You ’ re in the wrong line ’ he moaned, not even opening my passport. 
 
 ‘ Sorry, I couldn ’ t find the UK queue… ’ I replied, reaching out to take my passport. He looked up at me with a confused expression. 
 
 ‘ The ‘ you okay ’ queue? ’ 
 
 ‘ No… The UK, the United Kingdom… ’ I confirmed. 
 
 ‘ No, this isn ’ t the UK line ’ he said, emphasising UK. ‘ What country are you from? ’ he asked. 
 
 ‘ This.. I ’ m from this country, in the United Kingdom ’ I stuttered, getting frustrated with his lack of knowledge on his own country. 
 
 ‘ I ’ ve not heard of a country called the United Kingdom ’ he murmured as he opened my passport. 
 
 ‘ It ’ s not a country… It ’ s like, a collection… I ’ m from England! I live here! ’ I almost yelled. 
 
 ‘ Where ’ s England? ’ 
 
 ‘ What? It ’ s, we ’ re… This! This is England! ’ 
 
 ‘ Okay sir, I need you to calm down ’ he said, standing from his chair and towering above me. I fell silent instantly, he pulled out his walkie-talkie. ‘ Mark, can you come here please? ’ 
 
 A greying man joined him behind the desk, both looking intently at my passport. The people in the queue behind me were growing inpatient, a member of staff was guiding them to other desks. I watched as Mark, the supervisor, looked at the picture and then at my face, they typed into the computer and whispering together. 
 
'Can you follow me please sir?' He asked, remarkably politely. I followed him past all the desks, people craned their necks to look as I was escourted into a private room off the main immigration area. We went into a small room, I sat down as Mark left me on my own. I stared at the empty table in front of me, surely this was some strange joke. Mark soon returned with another immigration officer, they sat down on the seats opposite me, Mark slapped my passport on the table. 
'So, tell us again, where are you from?' He asked me. 
 
'England' I replied, growing tired of this ongoing joke at my expense. 
 
'Okay, and where exactly is Eeng-land?' 
 
'England' I emphasised,'Is here. This is England. We are all in England.' 
 
'Okay, and who is the... President of Eeng-land?' 
 
'There's no president, it's a prime... Look I'm getting tired of this. I've just had a long flight, I'm exhausted, let's finish this stupid joke so I can go home' I demanded, reaching for my passport. The other immigration quickly pulled it away from me. 
 
'And where is your home?' Mark asked, now becoming patronising. 
 
'England!' I yelled. The immigration officers sat silently for a while, before Mark left the room. The other immigration stared at me intently, I avoided his eyesight. The door opened as Mark walked back in, a book in his hand. 
 
'Okay, now, tell me where Eeng-land is' he said, dropping the heavy book on the table. On the front of the book were the words'WORLD MAPS' emblazoned in golden text. I sighed deeply and flicked through the pages, to Europe, to Western Europe to... Taured? 
 
'Hang on, this is n't right, what's Taured?' I asked quietly, mostly to myself. 
 
'You're in Taured, did you board the wrong plane?' Mark joked. 
 
 I stared at the map, it was the right shape of the country, except England and Scotland were one country, called Taured. To the west was Ireland and Northern Ireland, called Saulren. 
 
'No, this is n't right, this is the United Kingdom' I said, now accepting this was n't a joke. 
 
'No, sir, this is Taured. Where did you fly from?' Mark asked me. 
 
'Moscow, I was there on business I...' 
 
'Moscow?' Mark interrupted. The other immigration officer spoke up. 
 
'He flew in from Auracal, Simbine'. 
 
'No, I flew in from Moscow!' I demanded, now flicking through the pages to find Russia, only to find it made of smaller countries, one of them called Simbine, where Moscow was usually located. 
 
 The officers stared at me as my breath grew heavier, this had to be some strange dream, it did n't make sense. 
 
'So, were you trying to get into Taured illegally?' Mark asked. 
 
'What, no!' 
 
'Are you here to work?' 
 
'No! I work here already! I'm... I'm...' I was losing my words. 
 
'Then, please tell us why you have a fake passport.' 
 
'It's not fake, it's real...' 
 
'It's an obvious fake, you ca n't prove that it's real.' Mark said, a smug smile on his face. 
 
'And you ca n't prove it's fake!' I yelled back. 
 
'I ca n't prove it's fake? It's got a fucking unicorn on the front!' 

