Movie Theatre

This passage was written at the same time as the "Craters of the Yellow Moon" (see below). I was inspired after going to see a movie alone, waiting in my red-cushioned seat for the previews to begin, and simply observing the people around me. However, it is written about a fictional male protagonist. I often prefer to write about or in the mind-set of a seemingly simple man who is actually filled with sensitivity and complex thought. N-JOY.
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The smoothness of the chocolate was tempting. He longed to gently pop the circular candy into his delicate mouth, chew it systematically with his overly used molars, and graze over the texture with his lustful taste-buds. But instead he fiddled with it in his fingertips - tossing it back and forth amongst the engraved wrinkles, his pale skin. How could something so small cause such instantaneous, gratuitous pleasure? "Oh, it's just a fucking chocolate," his mind reminded...but he wasn't so sure. Within this tiny morsel lay DEATH, DESTRUCTION, and even TEMPORARY INSANITY (known as a "sugar high")...well not really...but yes, caused by increased consumption, of course.

The sound of insignificant chatter began to fill his surroundings: talk of artificially flavored popcorn, the endlessness of previews, and the anticipation for a new film. "Why do people constantly need to entertain themselves, or was it, to distract themselves?" he wondered. And if this movie was simply a form of escape, why was he there? He was fine, but everyone else around him was not.

After finally succumbing to his tongue, he placed the chocolate into his mouth and began to inspect the people around him. A true observer, he watched the way people spoke, how they interacted with their company and strangers. He even examined their shoelaces (tied or untied?, socks or no socks?). Was this from boredom or curiosity? Who knows. A couple sat down next to him. "Are these seats taken?" the slightly overweight, mousy-haired woman had asked, as she marched her way into the center of the aisle. "No, no" he politely said, although he was thinking "By answering truthfully, am I sacrificing the entire armrest?". She looked pleasant enough, and he felt relaxed. If anything should happen to him, if he should feel faint or antsy and need to leave (due to his bouts of anxiety), she seemed to be a good temporary companion, a reliable "snuggle buddy", if you will.

He thought of offering her a chocolate, but then realized that action might seem strange, as pure kindness is often deemed as such in this society. Most people are only courteous or thoughtful or generous when there is a secret or ulterior selfish motive, and thus they believe the same of other people. He also reasoned that her husband, or partner, or whoever he was, would not be too pleased. Moving on.

His eyes roamed - searching frantically for something to captivate their interest. He wanted to be in a film in this very moment. He wanted to spot that unique beauty across the theater, make eye contact, swallow his heart in one fast gulp, and become fascinated with the possibilities of their future, fantastical relationship. But he knew that was false. What a pretense. Ha. "Love at first sight". "Romance". Did that still exist? Would any woman fall for his desire to be chivalrous? - banishing the idea of treating her like the dirty, scuffed "Welcome" mat outside his lonely apartment? "No," he thought. "Women don't want that anymore"...Sigh..."Oh, modernity". He chuckled to himself. Could he be any more pretentious? Even the word pretentious was pretentious. And it wasn't as if he was acting that way to impress others, he was sadly, trying to impress himself. He certainly needed to stop over-thinking, which is precisely what he did when he noticed a peculiar child peering through the seat in front of him. The boy seemed to be completely devoted to his imagination. It was clear that he did not know the difference between reality and "non-reality", but then again who does know? The boy was talking to himself, emulating the noises of a race car, as he emphatically moved his arms back and forth over the crushed velvet seat. "Brooom, broom!", he yelled, staring straight at his one-man audience. The stranger smiled, with a longing behind his gaze; a hunger for innocence, but even simpler than that, a craving, a need for fun in its most organic form. This little boy did not have any objects or material possessions. He only had himself, and he was content with that. Why couldn't adults be that way? Why couldn't he entertain himself, or keep himself company, or invent creative games for himself?

It simply wasn't fair.