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I'm in. Pic, please.
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Jul 26, 2017 14:24
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| # ¿ Feb 13, 2026 01:03 |
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 The Premiere 776 words A few minutes couldn’t hurt. Right? I mean, a few minutes at a time. I wasn’t just going to go in once. That’d be ridiculous. As long as I kept checking the lobby, I didn’t see a problem. In fact, all I really needed to do was poke my head out once or twice. I’d locked the front doors, so nobody else was getting in. And we just had the one auditorium. If I stood at the back, I’d be able to see most of the exits. I’d notice if any customers left. In fact, I didn’t see a reason why I couldn’t watch the whole movie. After all, this was an opportunity to see Force Majeure a week before release. I couldn't pass that up. And, boy, was I glad I stuck around. Best movie I’d seen in my life. And that ending! They’d be talking about this for years. Decades! And I’d been part of the premiere! I couldn’t wait to tell everyone. I hustled out of the auditorium as the credits began to roll, pleased with my decision to stay. I’d be out by the front doors before anyone noticed my absence. Except… My stomach roiled as I ran down the lobby stairs. The whole place had been trashed. Carpets ripped, tiles shattered, and the concession stand torn to pieces. Even the decades-old display candies were gone. But, as I wound my way to the ground floor, I realized the theater hadn’t just been wrecked. It had aged. Rotted. I’d been gone less than two hours, but it looked like the place had been deserted for twenty years. Of course, that wasn’t possible. But what else explained the boarded windows, blackened walls, and bloated floors? What was I going to say to the customers? poo poo, what was I going to say to management? I bolted back upstairs, toward the offices, but skidded to a stop as I passed the auditorium. There should have been music or crowd noise coming from the other side. Some sign of people leaving. But I hadn’t seen anyone. I peeked in. Then entered. Nobody. Nothing on the screen or speakers. It looked like someone had taken a crowbar to the seats, splintering them, then doused the whole room with dust. But it was dark. That much was right. In fact, I could only spot a single source of illumination, the only reason I managed see my way up and down the aisles of the theater. And it came from above. The projection booth. Terrified – we had a packed house, what happened? – I ran out of the auditorium, toward the stairs at the end of the hall. I charged up, three steps at a time. Hit the top. The lights were on, but I didn’t see anyone. Just the projector humming away, like nothing was the matter. Except the film was going fast. Too fast. Like an out of control conveyor belt. The gate didn’t even have time to open, so no light escaped. No images projected. I took a step forward, but froze when someone spoke. “Did you enjoy the movie?” I jumped and did a mid-air quarter-turn. He was old, and his Greek fisherman’s cap and browline glasses made him look ancient. A lit cigarette hung from his lips. “Huh?” I managed, breathless from the stairs. “Did you. Enjoy. The movie?” Only the left side of his mouth moved as he spoke. “Yeah.” I shook my head. “Where is everyone?” “Gone.” “Gone? Where?” He shrugged. “Home? Who knows?” “And the theater? What happened?” He rapped a knuckle on a nearby splicing table. “Forty years will do a number on a place.” “Forty years?” I tried a laugh, but my sides hurt. “That’s right.” He stepped toward me, unsmiling. “That screening wasn’t for you. Cast and crew only. I couldn’t let you leave and blab about my ending.” I backed up. “Excuse me?” “What’s the matter? You don’t believe me?” “Should I?” I kept retreating. “You say you didn’t want me to spoil a movie, so you sent me forty years into the future.” It sounded even more like garbage coming from me. “I wanted to be on the safe side.” He flashed a lopsided grin. “It was quite a good movie, if I do say so myself. People only just stopped talking about it.” “This is ridiculous.” “See for yourself, then.” He motioned toward the stairs. “There’s a brand-new world to explore.” “Fine.” But I didn’t leave. I went for the projector. Call it muscle memory, fire safety, or curiosity, but I wanted to stop it before I left. He wagged his finger. “I wouldn’t.” I did.
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Jul 30, 2017 05:58
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In.
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Aug 1, 2017 13:00
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Thanks for the crit!
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Aug 2, 2017 15:10
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Thanks Mrenda! This is very helpful.
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Aug 2, 2017 16:36
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