Daily Writing Prompt #3 - For Us.

The once magic lantern splurted its final clicks out. The dimly lit room, with its heavy fire door that once kept all of the sound in, felt uninhabited. It never usually did. It was usually filled with apprehension and anticipation, but not today. No today was different. I carefully walked along the burgundy carpet, worn by years of footsteps that had once echoed with excitement and joy, now absorbed the sound of silence. Dragging my finger across the plastic walls, feeling each bump and crevice as if I were reading all of the forgotten stories told within this room. The only working blue footlights light my way as I walk down the narrow runway, heading to the seats, staring up at the vacant and black cloth that stretched from wall to wall. Flashing before my eyes, I recount every life I have ever lived, every story that had ever been told. I turn around. And then it hits me, that all to recognisable sweet scent lingering in the room, paired with sticky floors and leather plush seats.

A. B. C. D. E. F.

And then I’m at the top of the world. I hear a clanking sound coming from above my head. And then the projector turns on, and what I am watching feels reminiscent, but I can’t quite put my finger on it. That looks like something that I have dreamed about before. I take a seat on one of the leather seats and watch. I’ve been thinking about this idea. And that one. And those ones. It has always been my dream to work with that actor. The music as well, this is everything I had ever dreamed of. And then the credits roll… And there is my name. My name. Directed by me? How is this happening to me? Who is doing this? I look down.

“Who’s that?” I ask myself.  I can just see the back of their head. Scraggy shreds of grey hang down the back of the seat. They are about 10 rows in front of me, staring towards the screen. Still. Do I dare go and see?

I carefully exited my leather seat and tiptoed my way down the barely illuminated stairs. “They must have heard me by now?", I think to myself, “why haven’t they moved”.

“Ah, the fear of failure is a heavy burden, isn't it?” she says, almost sarcastically. I stop in my tracks. “But let me share a secret with you”, she continues “success is not always measured by fame or fortune. It's about the journey, the stories you tell along the way, the people you meet, and the impact you make. Even if you face hardships, the experience itself is invaluable. and it’s not the same. I’m not the same. How I miss leaving this world and entering a new one”.

By this point, I had inched myself closer to her, sitting down a few seats away from her. Why was I enticed by this figure? But, I nodded. I know that what she is saying is true, but it’s often hard to see the bigger picture when you’re stuck amid all the struggles.

She takes me hands, holds them in her thighs and smiles. “Remember, the most beautiful films are often born out of adversity. These struggles that you’re dealing with right now will become the greatest source of your stories. And one day, you’ll look back, you’ll appreciate the challenges that shaped you…” she pauses, “into you”.

Something about this felt dream-like, felt ominous. Felt like at any point I was just going to wake up, and this would have all been one crazy dream. She pointed to the screen, "Is that you my sweetheart?". I nodded again, struggling to find any words to say back to her. "I thought so" she nodded in agreement with me.

"Don't give up, will you? Don't give up for us".

"For us?" I questioned.

The woman smiled back at me, she took a deep exhale and closed her eyes.

I did the same.