After The Second Film

“What did you think?”

His voice interrupted the post-film haze once again. Scarlett twitched with annoyance. This was one of the reasons why she went to the cinema by herself and never sat next to anyone.

After films ended, she always sat through the credits in silence, dreading the moment when the lights would be turned back on. They would drag her back to reality, kicking and screaming inside, parting once more with her true world, the reality that had been taken from her. She never liked to think about the fact that that world had never belonged to her completely. She was going to change that, once she had found what she was looking for. That would finally satisfy her and the thirst for recognition, the ultimate and sublime immortalisation in black and white. Scarlett took a deep breath.

“I think that it’s almost as disappointing as the first time I saw it.” In 1952, she silently added. “And now if you’ll excuse me-”

She wrapped her black faux fur around her neck, exposing her pale arms for a moment.

“You probably have somewhere to be, but listen-” he began, while Scarlett reached for her bag. “Give me your number, we’ll go for a pre-film coffee sometime.”

Scarlett turned around and, inexplicably, dazzled him with a smile.

“Why don’t you ring me at the end of the week and we’ll see…”

A promise lingered in the air between them. The man smiled back, surprised that he’d gotten her to gift him with a smile, and not a frosty one either. He searched his pockets for his phone, remembered something and turned to fish it out of his coat, lying over the seat in front of them.

When he turned back, Scarlett was gone.