Screening Guilt

The court of public opinion had finally left the building. Minivans were packed full and heading home. Trashcans waved goodbye, jammed full like vases with fresh daisies. The snow was dumping as I shut the theater doors. There she was, my sweet solitude. My toes breathe as I see her again. She smirks from the back row as if she had been here this whole time. I know she missed this fiasco, but she knows what I go through during the season. When the madness of the crowd filled my room. This bog of mumbles. Obligation's projector kept ticking and clicking. Pulsing beams broadcasting through stank smoke. Silence slumped in the corner. He was slowly choking. Sanity's chips fell from the ceiling. But that madness is all gone now. Nothing left but sticky popcorn crunching underfoot. I smiled back at her as we rekindle our quiet candle. I imagined her on the roof this whole time, tickling the stars with her eyes. She was always so good at being timeless. Robotic footsteps broke through our moment as I turned back towards the stage. Mr Guilt stopped center-stage beneath his brown derby. He stood straight and proud with his arms bear-hugging a pile of costumes. A small metal strong box dangled from his pinky like some lazy monkey. Clearing his throat, he announced, "I think we are done here." You could tell he was satisfied, and so were we.