Trigger Warning: death, mentions of rape and assault, angst
It was a concoction of blue hues and gray undertones, and a contrast of yellow in the middle. A famous actor in yellow stands still through the blue hues of faceless extras. His eyes fail to captivate grief; face too concerned with looking good rather than rendering emotion. The movie poster aims to showcase the main character in the midst of a crown. Story-wise, the actor was asked to look sad to attempt differ against the color of his shirt and match the sad hues. The way I pitched it was: this character is grieving and the movie revolves around his healing. He tries to be happy again, hence the yellow but the way he views the world sinks deep into what he's still feeling.
He is more akin to the blue hues and his pain is faceless, than he is with the bright yellow. He's still in pain, far from healing, miles from joy.
Emphasis on still. Time can only cease the relevance of pain, but it can never invalidate the pang.
I sighed and my shoulders slumped, then straightened them once again —almost immediately. Like getting caught with poor posture was a crime but as long as you straightened your back and curved a smile, life is good. Yellow happy, even.
My eyes were still towards the movie poster I made, but they lingered on my reflection instead. I wore a billowy blue shirt, which almost matched the poster's surrounding hues. My lips weren't curved in any way that would befit any emotion, just pressed against each other as quiet goes. I saw a dark twinkle in my own eyes, the glittering of sight's rain, and they would be far fitting to match pain than the actor's orbs.
You can never imitate what's intimate. Or act the abstract.
I walked away and went towards the cinema's entrance, where I passed by a humongous six. I gave my ticket to the guy in yellow uniform, and gave a little smile.
"Maaga pa po, sir," he said with crumbs beside his lips.
"Pero, puwede nang pumasok diba?" I asked.
"Opo, sir," he politely agreed.
"Pasok na ako." The sweat of my drink trickled down my knuckles.
"Sige, po," he proceeded to take my ticket and removed a stub. "Fan po kayo ng mga bida, noh? Kaya maaga pasok niyo."
"Hindi naman," I mumbled and got a part of my ticket back.
No one goes inside the cinema early. What you would do is wait it out and do activities beforehand. Some would shop for certain things when time was generous and then leave these at the baggage counter. Others would rather eat a meal before going inside, so snacks wouldn't be necessary and the movie will get every thread of their attention. Plenty, especially when pressed for time compared to the latter, would purchase snacks to eat inside. A large percentage of these people would finish their food before the climax begins. Few would search for reviews about the movie or watch the trailers, speculating what the inside of the cinema holds for them. I once belonged to these types of movie-goers, because I had someone to do these things with. Not anymore, though.
No one to shop with for certain things and leave at the baggage counter, which we would only remember while already in the parking lot. No one to eat meals with before going inside, not because eating alone is pitiful but eating with her was fun. No one to purchase snacks with, or at least bicker with which snacks to buy because most of them are annoyingly expensive. No one to search and read reviews with, or console when we accidentally read a spoiler. No one to rewatch trailers with; maybe because trailers feel like 5-hour long movies because time stopped when I lost her.
No one was inside the cinema, except one.
A scarily familiar face which bore no memory of intimacy. She looked exactly the way she did from the past that it stunted me, like how a ghost would make you feel. But this was far from what horrors taunted humans, this was life. The life that strips you the desire to live, a fun prank to iterate that pranks are stupid.
