Moviegoners

October is always a great month for horror movie releases, but unfortunately the time of year also means that the theater is likely to be full of selfish, immature idiots.  The following piece of flash fiction was inspired by my own unpleasant experience with a crowd unruly enough to rival the audience at the Stab premiere in the opening sequence of Scream 2.


Moviegoners

This midnight screening of the latest screamfest has drawn all the young rowdies like blowflies to carrion, and so now Bruce sits scowling, with his arms crossed and hands balled.  He simply wanted to watch the strangers in masks torment the photogenic couple, but how could he enjoy such fare when surrounded by these despoilers?  The gigglers up front bombarding the screen with fluffy, buttered hail; the cell phone answerer a few rows down talking as casually as if home alone; the premature shriekers in the back determinedly preempting the movie's shocks; the magpies perched off to the left dubbing in their running commentary; the restless-legged cretin behind him performing a rumba on the seatback.  Bruce tries to focus, but the splitting headache has already been kickstarted.  Whimpering, he palms his bald pate and wonders why he subjects himself to this unpleasantness--why he never just waits for the DVD...

Yet by the time the credits have rolled he's in a state of Fangorial splendor.  He can't recall the film at all, but is certain of a visceral experience.  When the houselights flare, Bruce stands up and rotates his gaze.  The popcorn throwers sit still, their eyes glued to the screen by the grue of the trailing stalks; Mr. Cell Phone now sports a conspicuously rectangular goiter; the screamers' final attempts have been cut off by sliced-open windpipes; the chatterers' tongues hang stretched into Twizzler-like helixes, and the kicker's footless stumps are wedged in the cracks between seats.  As Bruce takes it all in, he suddenly feels skittering legs upon him: the last of his rages heading home.  The detumescent beastie scales his arm, scurries across his shoulder and squishes into the canal of his left ear.  Sighing, smiling, Bruce closes his eyes and relishes the sepulchral quiet all around.  This AMC theater might be stained vermilion throughout, but in Bruce's mind violence is undeniably golden.