I first saw her in a passport photo, another lost document. I pictured her and wondered where she might have lost it, where she was last seen.

Her background swirls around her, shifting, like her features. There’s nothing else to know for now. I try to find her with my mind.

I’m the only one waiting in the hall. The elevator never comes down. The stairs are endless, dark and damp. Looking out the window, I see a morning stopped in time. Cold, silent and heavy. The light blinks, shivers come in waves.

I saw her for the second time tonight. She walked past me on her way out. I wondered which floor she was in as I went up the stairs. Thought I heard faint conversation. The former guests never fully faded. They’re all around us.

She’s walked through a few continents. Now, her legs are most likely in a lab. I wonder how many times she’s been catalogued, and hope the last time will be dignified.

She’s here again.

I’m never fast enough to see her when I turn around, but I feel her behind me every once in a while.

I’ve tried to catch her in the reflection. Her haunting helplessness taunts me, another spectator. We can’t watch over each other anymore.

If I saw her once I’ve seen them all, the distinct women who share the same fate.

I fill in the blanks and prepare to fire them.

Even though she’s behind me, I know I’m after her in line.