Exit Sign: a Theatre of the Mind

Chapter 1 ~ October 5th

The warm winds birthed by the sun's burning caress of the world had come and gone for the year. A bleak sky. Bland pigments brushed across the dry land like a god worshipped by the old trees, forsaken by summer's breath. The believers spread the faith to the brown grass around them. Early autumn. Two twenty-one-year-old college dropouts gabbed as the cool wind chilled their cheeks.

"I just couldn't get into it. I really wanted to like it, but I just didn't," said Dave. "The whole time I was sitting there, I was thinking 'why did I pay for this?"

"Really? But, it was so good," said Billy.

"It wasn't though. It was all action and no weight, a power fantasy without feeling. The heroes were doing all of these things, punching and blasting the enemies, but the brief takes and awkward continuity editing lost any consequences from all the punching and blasting, so the action fell flat and developed nothing for the story. It was like throwing a ball of paper in the wind; it went somewhere, but do I really care?"

"Okay. I guess I see what you're saying, but there was so much tension and anticipation built up that made the plot so good. We'd been waiting for all of these things to happen that were built up in the first two movies, and then they finally do! I thought the fight at the end was a real pay off."

"Really? It all felt empty to me. The whole time, I just kept looking at the exit sign and wondering 'what happens if I leave?' I could have left. I should have, I wanted to, but I didn't."

"Why not?"

"Because, I paid for the movie. I had to get my money's worth out of it."

"Okay, so you're telling me it only takes a ten dollar investment for you to make yourself miserable?"

Dave sat for a moment. He took his cold, black coffee in one hand and drank deeply, rolled his options around in his head, and savored the bitter swill. He opened his mouth and cast the dice with his next words.

"Well, I didn't want to be irrational. I paid for it; the least I could do is sit it out. I also hoped things would get better; they just didn't. Plus, my wife enjoyed it, to be honest. I wasn't gonna leave her there; it wasn't that bad. And, I figure, her opinion has to be just as valid as mine. Maybe there was something I was missing."

The wind ran her fingers through Dave's hair. They sat in the shade outside the fast food place where Dave traded his hours for eight-twenty a piece. He stared out to the gray sky, wondering if rain would come and give the world a rinse.

"You know, that movie cost over four hours of my life: two to watch it and two to pay for it," said Dave. "Spending money is why we work though. Glad I got Sunday off this week; Sundays are the worst."

"Yeah, it's hard to feel sorry for 'struggling' theaters when they charge so much."

"It's hard to feel sorry for them when we work so hard and make so little."

"It can be hard to feel sorry for anyone, I think," said Billy.
Looking down at the white paper cup stained brown on the inside, Dave drank the last of once warm coffee. Today, the cold wind got her fingers on everything she could. Why am I spending my day off here? It's like I can't get away from this place he thought.