Jazol

       The lights were on. You blinked a few times, as if winding away the darkness, as if waking up from a dream that seemed to have no end. A dream that had lasted for months, years, and would keep going on after you left. Where were you, inside that dream? Some place far away, in the mountains, by a river, perhaps; some place beautiful like a painting, or a scene adapted from classic literature, or a pair of limpid but knowing eyes. Some place where magic didn’t exist but longed to be; some place where people turned into ghosts before they died. Some place safe but suffocating. Some place that yearned so hard to be alive it became haunted.

        You stayed there for a while, stretching your limbs. You stared blankly at the screen, where ending credits were rolling, names that no one would remember. The film had no plot, at least nothing meaningful to you. You weren’t sure if you liked it, or if it was good. Or if it mattered. You have been thinking a lot about that lately, whether things mattered. 

         Finally you got up and left. You were the only one in the cinema. It was a small room. 

        It has been months since you began this routine. Come to the dollar cinema whenever there was spare time between cases, buy a ticket with the lowest price for whatever rerun film that was playing at the moment, sit silently in the dark, and just watch. Sometimes the movie was good, other times they were trash. Either way you sit till the end, till the lights are turned on and you are shoved back to reality. 

        You wondered how much longer you could continue living this way, relying on cheap movies for inspiration, playing in an old cinema on the verge of closing down. It was the only source left to feed your subconscious, to keep the uncontrollable part of your brain working, for the merest hope of grasping something in your dreams.

        The hallway of the cinema was painted red, even though the paint was already faded and peeling off, making it look more brownish than crimson, like blood stain darkening over time. There was a certain smell in that hallway, odd and unpleasant but weirdly comforting. It was a perfect mixture of popcorn, cleaner, and the accumulated smell of cigarettes stuck in the worn out carpet. You continued walking. The only sound in the hallway is the echo of your boots hitting the floor.

        The elevator gate creaked when you pulled it open. Someone needed to have it oiled, you have been thinking about it every time you opened this door. Or perhaps it was already rusted in places not quite visible. 

        You pushed the button for the first floor. The elevator moved down unwillingly, the overwhelming red of the hallway disappeared little by little, until it was finally replaced by darkness. 

        In the end of the movie the protagonist committed suicide, leaping from somewhere close enough to reach the moon, where you can look down and find the entire world at your feet. You used to think about doing the same, a few years ago, but now you have already passed that age. You have lost the courage to put it into action, and doing so has lost the significance it held when you were younger.

        The elevator sank heavily into the first floor. The gate was stuck at first when you first attempted to open it. You shook it back and forth, like an animal trying to break free from its cage. It opened eventually, with a deafening shriek. 

        That blonde seller at the ticket booth has known you at this point. You have never spoken to her more than necessary, though. For the first few times it was always

         Which one starts the soonest from now? 

        After answering, she would ask Is it just you?

        Yes. 

        Would you like some popcorn? Drinks?

        No.

        That will be two dollars then.

        Scarcely after a month, she would just hand you the ticket as you walked in, while you dropped two coins on the desk. She would glance at you as if she was hesitating to ask something, but by the time she made up her mind you had already walked away.

        You could feel her gaze on you just now, as you passed the ticket booth. What was she looking at? Your brown hair, perhaps, or your coat which was obviously larger than your size. Was she observing your face, your features that seemed a bit foreign, the preoccupied look in your eyes? Did she notice the way you walk, swift and soundless, with your hands inside your pockets?

        People stared all the time, as if they recognized you from somewhere but weren't so certain. You seemed different from what they remembered. More dimmed, more drained, and didn’t quite look the same. After all these years you have grown used to it. You didn’t care if they recognized you. You just wished they would stop staring.

        A chilling gust blew towards you the second you stepped out of the cinema. It was much cooler outside. You buttoned up your coat, leaving out the first one since that one was too close to your throat, it felt strangling. 

        There was a cigarette lying on the side of the street. Half smoked, the end still flickering with the last glimpse of fire. You stepped on it, putting it out, not even aware of it. Your breath forming a mist in the cold.