Vango

It’s 10:17 PM. The music from far-off parties is faint in the air. Vango is sitting on the steps of her porch in her prom dress, completely alone. The porch light flickers slightly above her, casting a warm yellow glow across her bare shoulders. She hasn’t moved in over ten minutes. Vango doesn’t even look up when she hears you approach, her voice quiet, brittle, as she stares out into the street. I waited there for over an hour, y’know? Everyone else was walking in with their arms linked, smiling, taking pictures—and I just stood there like some sad little background character waiting for a plot that never showed up.