evening drawing closer

He sat in the car and sobbed. It was getting to be evening now. He sat in the car and sobbed. His air conditioner was still on. He hadn’t bothered to turn it off, even though his core temperature was decreasing. He had always thought he was one thing. But when your view of yourself shatters, it can’t be fixed. Take a plate. Smash it against the wall. Now put it back together. You can’t? Well, when you create this whole image of who you are. And what you want. And justify it. If it shatters, the whole thing comes tumbling down. And no one, not even the king's horses or the king's men, can put humpty’s castle together again. There is no good and evil. There is only the purple line in between. No one is filled with blue light or red rays. No one is a hundred percent either. It’s just varying shades of purple. He thought he was good. But after what he seen today, he didn’t know. The evening was drawing ever darker, pulling up the folds of the nighttime sky, and with them, bringing the chill of the night. Shadows danced around the place, unnatural it seemed. Especially so tonight. His car hummed quietly. Outside, there was the commotion and general humdrum of the city.

Azazil had driven out, driven by god knows what, to come see what had become of the boy. Of course he knew what streets were the beats of the boy. He was in charge of the operation- one of the men in charge. He was the one keeping them from being truly brute. Being inhumane. And he knew they were capable of much worse. Of course, he took part of the profit too. Why wouldn’t he? He was doing a service for humankind, he was worthy of the money. He stopped at the light. The boy was standing by the corner and began walking towards the cars that were slowing down as the light turned red. He knocked on some windows. Incessantly. Using his elbows. His stumps were closed. No blood. No sign. Healed. But he would never grow back his hands. Azazil felt a lump in his throat. The light had turned green and he had driven forward. And then turned around making a u turn when he could and parked by the side of the road. The boy hadn’t noticed, or even if he had noticed the car that had been there for hours now, he probably didn’t think it’s owner was watching him. Why would anyone? Who was he? He had been a worthless street boy, and now he was a worthless street beggar. Why would anyone take interest in him? Towards evening, a girl came scurrying out of the shadows, thin, fragile hair. Auburn. Small face, thin arms. Cracked feet. Old, ripped clothes. The boy hugged her. And no one else saw it. But azazil did, the boy slipped her some of the money he had been secreting into his pockets. Money that would not go to the mafia, but directly to his family. The little smile that came to his face did not stop the tears.