Frame by Frame

Warm air shot up in bursts from the cold subway grates outside the theater. The electricity created a brief haven from the cold as Jack left the empty movie theater.

Not that Jack was the only one at the midnight screening. No. He had been jostled, bumped, and irritated by other guests all night long. But those kinds of people rarely sat through the credits. Jack liked reading all the names. It felt like the right thing to do. This particular film had seven separate effects teams. By the time Jack left, the spilled sodas were barely still sticky under his feet.

The cold night air could not knock Jack out of his daze. Film held a strong power over him. The effects could linger for days. His mind could play back every moment of every film he ever saw.

His ten block walk started innocent enough. The red hand immediately stopped his passage, so he checked his phone. No messages. The white figure saw fit to grant passage through the empty streets.

Jack let his mind linger over the opening scene.

A man stared at himself in a broken mirror. The dim light danced along the shattered reflection, shifting focus between different sizes of his face. A slow drop of blood trickled down the forehead as the man clutched the frame in his desperate grasp.

Another red hand. The man in Jack's mind was in a bed now. The IV dripped in time to the flashing light. Green lights danced around the clinical examination. The man's condition was stable.

Jack crossed the street, visions of sterile tools and open flesh. The surgeon was on a deadline. If the glass from the mirror was not removed from the forehead in time, the man would surely suffer.
Cautiously, Jack rounded the corner toward his apartment. He only had to cross street to enter the building. The sharp insertion of metal blade seemed to paralyze Jack where he stood. Bits of glass fell onto the cold tray as Jack fell to the paved street below. A waiting taxi driver ran over to see if Jack was all right.