The clock strikes 12.
Cinderella hurries home, clutching her tote bag in one hand and her phone in another.
Except she didn't wear fancy ball gown and leaving one of her glass slippers,
But t-shirt with jeans and leaving a mound of work to be done tomorrow.
As the elevator dings,
She became aware of her surroundings.
No enchanting castle and handsome prince in sight,
Only dimly lit hallways and patrolling security guy as far as the eyes can see.
As she reached the entrance, some people were passing by.
Scantily clad women with pungent powdery smell and Caucasian men laughing merrily into the bar,
For a party that is just yet to begin.
It was 12 past 5.
Cinderella is now just a poor girl with poor life choices.
The more she thinks, the more tears welling up.
She caught a glimpse of her reflection earlier,
And she realized she's no longer the princess when she first came here,
Just a girl with bags under her eyes from all the nights of wringing her brain dry.
Cinderella's carriage pulled up and took her home,
Made up of no pumpkin and mice,
While the driver said,
Rp95.000 with a tip would be nice.
