16 August 2016

Quick Write


They were actually trying to kill each other with their bare hands! Whatever happened to polite society where you simply shot your opponents? A clear sign of the decline of western civilization; yet another bug spattered on the windshield of hedonism.

He shook his head, rose to his feet, and ignored the jeering of whoever it was whose view he'd blocked. Long legs carried him down the aisle and out of the cinema. Bright light took him until his eyes adjusted and the smell of popcorn greeted him back into waking life.

What a terrible thing that was, he thought. Never go on Stan's recommendation again.

He slung his jacket around his shoulders and up over his arms, nearly striking one of the cleaning youths with the sleeve as he went. A "Sorry" fluttered out of his mouth and he blushed and stamped again, passing posters of large creatures, desperate-looking men in suits, and blonde women surrounded by cars and men less desperate-looking. The locked door was a bit of a detriment to his departure. He tried another. Then another. None of them opened. He shook the last one by its crossbar in dramatic fashion, not unlike a character in the film he'd just escaped. With a hefty sigh he looked around for another door, thinking he'd stumbled into some staff exit or the like in his embarrassment.

The lobby was empty.

In that dim, air conditioned place he was the only breathing human. There were the posters, the bad carpeting, the horrid popcorn, the fountains of soda and worse. And that was all. Fear stepped in and he sat on the black bench nearby, almost weak from confusion. What did it all mean? What was happening? He stayed the fear and sat, blank of mind, waiting for clarity to come. When it did, it was accompanied by words like "trapped" and "forever" and, as he waited patiently for his next move to be realized, footsteps broke the silence. Chatter. Human chatter. The chatter of foolish people who would sit through a movie dedicated about people killing each other with their bare hands. Alongside the onset came young, annoyed people in vests, the cinema staff.

When their bathroom breaks and parting reviews were finished, the audience hugged and shook hands. In a single horde they departed, pushing open the apparently locked doors with ease, where he had been pulling.

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