29 Evil

Red and yellow light flooded my face. The explosion echoed from the Dolby Surround Sound vibrating my ribcage. I gripped the seat as the main character drove a fire engine red 1952 convertible across the raised highway, dodging ufos falling out of the sky. Could he make it to the power station in time? What if one of those ufos fall on the car? Blue light blinded my row. Instinctively I threw up my arm to shield my eyes.

“Hello? Yeah I’m at the movie.” A black teen with an oversize white tee-shirt and white cap talked into his cell phone in front of me. “No we haven’t gotten to that part yet.” The blue light of the cell reflected off his gold tooth as he talked.

I leaned forward and whispered. “Please be quiet.”

He sat up in his seat and turned to face me. “Get out my face, cracker.” He yelled. Other people in the audience started hushing us. The teen sat back down and talked into his phone. “Nothing man, just some stupid ass cracker looking to get his ass beat.”

In one smooth motion, I stood up, snatched the phone from his hand, and threw it down the theater. It’s blue light flashed as it hit the cement. It split in pieces as the light flashed a final time.

The teen stood up and pushed my shoulders back. “What the fuck you think you’re doing you racist cracker. I’m going to kick your little punk ass.” He pushed my shoulders again. Someone ran out of the theater.

I looked him in the eyes. He was shaking, his eyes darted around the dark room and a hand reached around to his back pocket.

Does he have a gun? A knife? The possibilities filled my head. He was too close for a gun, I could grab it. A knife I’d have to parry. I don’t need this, I just wanted to watch the movie. I looked at the screen quickly to see the main character’s arm had been transformed into a tentacle. How did that even happen? I needed to diffuse this situation quickly. “Just turn off your phone.”

“What?” he pushed me with his free hand. “You’re a bitch ass cracker. Come on then” he pushed me again. “What you got bitch?” His hand was still behind his back.

I looked around at the crowd. Everyone was focused on us. Earth could be blowing on on screen and no one would notice. A guy behind the teen nodded his head. I took it as a sign of support and clenched my fist.

“Come on bitch, what you gonna do? Huh? What you gonna do, cracker?” He pulled his hand out from behind his back. A switchblade glinted the projector light. He pointed the blade at me in his right hand and motioned for me to attack with his left.

I grabbed his right arm and forced the blade into the seat. With his hand pinned I swung and caught the left edge of his jaw with my fist. The crowd cheered as he let go of the knife and fell over the seat. The movie flickered white and the house lights came up. Ushers ran in and up the aisles. People emptied the row so they could get to the teen. He was holding his face crying on the floor. They picked him up and walked him out and down the stairs. The big bad gansta was crying.

The manager came up to me. “I’m so sorry, are you hurt?”

“No I’m fine.” The knuckles on my right hand burned, each vain throbbed individually. I held my hands next to each other, blood pooled around a small cut.

“Are you sure?” he asked again. I nodded. He pulled the knife out of the seat. “Thank god for that.” He walked back to the aisle and down to the front of the theater. “We’re going to restart the movie for you. I’m sorry about this fokes, if you don’t want to stay you can get a refund.”

©Chris Richards 2009