At the Stroke of Midnight
There was only four us, two of 'em smoking, the other and me just staring towards the empty space that was starting to fill around midnight. The white cat just sat still on the white chair, acting as if he or she was also a part of our little kingdom.
They shifted their attention, and then mumbled something I didn't bother to listen. I gave them a smile that was barely visible under the dim light of the overhead lamp post. I glanced over at my handphone, reading that particular message again and again.
And I taught there was tears inside my eyes. And I wonder is it because of her? Or was it because of just pure tiredness caused by the hectic day.
writ by ariff dean