Theater

I stand outside the doors, and pause for a moment. I have to go in, I need to. It's unfamiliar still, the air is too still, the doors aren't as heavy. I push gently, and slip inside. They close quickly behind me, sealing in darkness, and I realize the lights are off. The only door to the outside world is that behind me, spilling in warm light around my ankles from underneath, barely reaching the backs of the seats. The stage at the far end is lost completely.

I suddenly realize that I'm completely alone for the first time in a new theater. I pull out my phone to use as a flashlight, but the dim glow proves useless. My fingertips reach across the back wall, barely daring to leave my little spot of light until I find the switch. There are two buttons. Normal and panic. Holding my breath, I tap panic.

The lights come on after a moment, but the theater still feels strange. Nervously, I walk down to the pit and grab the jacket I left. Standing there, I pause. The wings are left in perfect darkness, and the mezzanine towers above the back seats with eerie shadows. I try to convince myself that this is where I'm supposed to be, this is my theater now, this is where I'll perform. But I can't. The seats look blank and empty, the whole place feels startlingly foreign. There's a gentle well-known breeze of the air conditioner, but it does little to comfort me. Slipping on the jacket,  I cross up through the seats quickly, tapping back to normal as I exit.