The bright light of day flooded into the theatre as March yanked open the front doors, and light poured in against the dark black walls of the theatre entrance. He stepped into the vacant hall, letting the metal doors close behind him, the sound cutting through the silent theatre. The light was cut off; drained from the room.
But even in the darkness, March could find the light switch, remembered where it was. The house lights came to life with an electronic buzz and the entire theatre house was bathed in manufactured light. He walked down the short hall separating the front door and the screening room, snatching a chocolate bar from the shelf and tearing off the package as he entered the main atrium.
He wandered down the aisle, his footsteps echoing in the vast auditorium, but also muffled by the soft carpet beneath his shoes. He let his hand glide over the seats, listening to the soft pat of his hand against the fabric chairs. Closing his eyes, he breathed in the smell of the theatre. The smell of buttery popcorn and sweet candy.
March took a seat at the center of the auditorium, in the very middle of the chairs. The fabric beneath him was soft like silk, even after years of use, but March did not notice. he had sat there often enough that the texture second nature, as familiar as home. He took a bite of the chocolate.
This was March's usual routine. He always arrived early, each and every night he could spare, to claim the best seat in the auditorium. He hardly missed a showing, and the owner of the small theatre, a frail old man by the name of Doug, had grown fond of the young teen who frequented his cinema each night.
For it was in that theatre March found he could lose himself in a movie. Let himself be taken to another world to explore. Another world to discover.
The lights of the theatre flickered, and snapped March out of his daze. The house went dark for a mere fraction of a moment. March looked above him, at the lights set high above the seats. He thought it faulty wiring, the theatre was decades old after all, until it happened again, the lights flashing like a strobe at a concert. The lights flashed for a second. Two. Three, and they did not come back on.
In the darkness, March stood. He set the chocolate on the seat beside him, and made his way back to the short hall to inspect the lightswitch. He could recall the layout of the chairs, where the aisles were, even in the inky dark. He did not necessarily run, but his pace was quicker than a simple walk as he paced up the aisles and down the hall separating the door from the main atrium.
When March reached the switch and threw it, the house lights did not change, but the projector in the back room whirred to life.
March could not see the picture the projector showed on the screen from where he stood by the lightswitch. He could see the dim gray lights from the projector dance across the dark room, sending faint shadows off the cushioned seats in the far rear of the house, but he could not see the image itself.
March walked back down that short hall, guided by the projectors faint light, and stopped when the great screen came into view
