It's a wrap, they said, a wrap. As in all over.
I kept watching the action thinking something dramatic might happen to change that, because God, I love being the one who waits for everyone else to be wrong. It's a bad habit of thought I've had since I was a kid. Such power in being right... A forlorn hope often enough. I'm helpless before the law of averages.
And they were right. It was a wrap. Time to go home, because it was over, a wrap like a wet blanket thrown over everything, rolled up to hold it all in, a ball nothing could escape from without massive self-injury.
See, I'm very familiar with massive self-injury. In some ways, it's my superpower: the deep understanding of the pleasure of hurt. The joys of limping home saying to all who express concern, "Damn it. I did it to myself, a self-inflicted wound, a stupid move and this..." Secretly, I enjoy the attention and the sympathy, people reassuring me, saying it could happen to anyone...
Once I was home alone, I put my feet up and sighed. It's a wrap. I was right to wait. I was right to call myself stupid and accept the corrections of the crowd. A wrap.