Is mid-nite, all is quiet in her attic, this place of little light, is her favorite corner, to wait for the call, when mid-nite strike. Nothing scary, yet; beyond her fears, in this darkness, somber moment, she's awaiting. Every mid-nite, she sits on her couch asking herself; when? why? where?. She's been doing the same, since that very first mid-nite, waiting for the when, the why, the where. Every mid-nite, she isn't clear about the understanding, often she keeps the secret to herself; she trust, no one else.
When? Time is due now, she said; why?...Did I make a mistake? No call yet; when? It is, kind of extended time now; on purpose? Every mid-nite, the same questions, that she always ask to herself; but she finds no answers. She has her faith, it will be here soon, it will come, and I will hear that call.
90 minutes after mid-nite, already, suddenly; 'POR ALLA HUMEA'; this voice said...'TU MADRE QUE SE MEA'; she answered. At last, now she can go to bed, knowing that whoever was yelling and cursing in Spanish, she knows, that tomorrow, at mid-nite, that voice, will get from her, nothing but, the same shitty Spanish answer...End of Mistery.
By: Juli Monat
Copyright (c) 2013