On a bustling Friday afternoon,

Along the mall, across the lobby.

At the onset of a sweltering June.

Partaking in a favorite hobby.

Collecting our tickets and turning the corner,

A place so beloved and familiar, suddenly becoming empty and eerie.

As if entering the parlor for a funeral mourner.

The walls are sparse, and the hallway long and dreary.

The horror movie posters hang ominously,

As if they are reaching out grimly in a luring wait,

Twisting the silent corridor monotonously,

And turning the long, linear walk to Theater Eight

 Into an imaginative detour through the Fifth Dimension,

Where you momentarily forget your original fate

And ponder the silence and the lasting apprehension,

Before fleeing the imposed direness and rejoining everyone else in Theater Eight.

Photo by Jeremy Yap on Unsplash