Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86059 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 430(@200wpm)___ 344(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
My heart skips a happy beat.
Across the highway is an old strip mall. There’s a variety of stores, a restaurant proudly proclaiming the best burgers in town, and then a much larger building that makes my heart flutter in entirely new ways.
A movie theater.
Yearning and nostalgia strike me, and I gravitate toward the theater. How long has it been since I saw a movie? Since anyone did? Even though I know there won’t be anything there, I head for the theater anyhow. I was at the movies with my parents when the Rift opened. I remember that. I remember the power flickering and people screaming. I remember the roof tearing off and something big and awful reaching in and lashing out with its claws. I remember my face tearing open and something heavy falling on my arm and trapping me.
I don’t remember much after that. Just waking up to a burning hot face full of stitches and a missing hand…and hearing that my parents left me behind as they fled Dallas.
But I still have fond memories of movies. They remind me of the Before, and so it takes no time to jog across the highway and cross over to the parking lot, drawn to the large building as if compelled. The parking lot itself is surprisingly empty—most of the cars are on the road—and faded marquee posters lining the wall are still advertising movies that never came out. I touch one, my fingertips leaving smears on the dirty glass.
Nostalgia for the Before hits me like a tidal wave. I miss being so young and carefree. How old was I when the Rift hit? Thirteen? Fourteen? Time’s been a blur ever since, a day-to-day struggle to survive, to exist, to make it to the next meal, the next morning, the next night. I remember sleepovers and summer camp. I remember going to the mall with friends, and seeing movies, and smiling at boys at the school dance. Giggling in the bleachers with my friends as we cheered on the Homecoming game.
I want to be that carefree Rachel again so, so badly.
I drag my fingers over the glass of the ticket window, not caring that I’m getting dust all over my hand or that my palm is filthy. My lunch is tucked against my other arm, and I move toward one of the chained doors, trying it anyhow. The chains hold, but when I tug on the door, they leave a big enough gap that I can slip inside. I glance around, checking to see if Brady’s noticed that I’m gone, but there’s no one.
I push the chains apart as far as they’ll go and squeeze inside.
It’s dark inside the theater and the air smells stale. Cobwebs hang from the ceiling against old banners and posters advertising new releases and encouraging people to buy snacks. I head away from the snack bar area—there’s a rancid smell there and something green is blooming inside the popcorn machine—and head for the theaters themselves. There was nothing better than sitting in the darkness and munching on food while you waited for the movie to come up. Nothing. It was such a time of anticipation and hope and excitement.
Dumb, I tell myself. It’s dumb to romanticize going to the movies so much. But I can’t seem to stop myself as I head for the first theater and pull the door open. I’ll sit, drown in nostalgia for a few minutes, eat my terrible lunch, and then head back before Brady knows I’m gone.
Just a few minutes to myself, to let the After fade away.
3
RACHEL
The inside of the theater even smells like my memories.
I sigh happily, breathing in the scent. Mixed in with dust and mildew, the fainter notes of popcorn hit me, and I move to the nearest seat, flopping down. There’s a gigantic hole in the ceiling that lets light trickle in, and I grin at the dust motes and the empty, gray screen. I pull out my lunch and unwrap the cheesecloth around it carefully, knowing I have to bring it back. Everything gets re-used. Everything.
Lunch today is two hard slabs of a corn-like bread with a paste of black beans between them for protein. Food isn’t like it was in the Before. It’s whatever grows best down here, which means lots of corn and tomatoes, and not a lot of fresh meat. Even so, it’s pretty good. I take a big, hungry bite and close my eyes, imagining that a movie’s just about to play and I’m eating a big sandwich—no! A fresh hot dog from the snack bar, covered in relish and mustard. Some big budget movie with amazing costumes is about to play, and I’ll get to spend the day living in that fantasy world, and when I leave, I’ll go out to dinner with my friends and we’ll discuss how dreamy the romantic hero was and life will be so small, and comforting, and blissfully ignorant.