Waiting for Magic or Punishment

Almost one in the afternoon. People passing by in twos or groups. Most of them are smiling, eyes lit up although a little squinted in the heat. It is inevitable to realize that I'm alone and fucked up messy.

Smoking here where at any moment I could expect someone dear to show up and catch me red handed. My egos are shouting at each other in my head under the burning sun. I almost wish I could cry but no tears came.

Inhaling the poisonous smoke, I could hear mom's voice suddenly standing in front of me. She almost shout, but her voice is cracking at the same time. She asked, for the zillionth time "Why?"

And as the smoke finally finds light, I realized, nobody will come for me. Not to punish me, nor to save me.