Cassidy Delahunty
Aug 24, 2017 · 2 min read

The Air In An Empty Theater

The air in an empty theater feels cold, no matter what the actual temperature is. The masonite lining the framework of the floor peels and cracks, revealing the light brown, cardboard-esque material underneath the shiny black exterior. The half-off lights make one feel small, but in a way that is almost comforting.

More people filed into the theater and it became warmer and brighter, despite the fact that neither the lighting nor the temperature had changed. It was too warm.

The shop was always warm, and it became colder the more people were in it, the more in-use it was. For now, it was empty. The fluorescents flicked on and began to hum. In the back, painted drips and splatters and splotches and marks of all kinds coated the floors, the counters, the ceilings. If you had a paint key or a flathead screwdriver and a lot of time, you could peel up a layer of paint from the wooden counter as thick as the screwdriver itself. It was messy, but not in the way a kitchen sink, filled to the brim with dirty dishes is messy. It was in the way that an old library without enough bookshelves is messy.

The wooden shelf stretching all the way up to the ceiling was an invisible giant. If you had long enough legs and a small enough fear of heights you could climb up onto the second or third shelf and lie down on one of the prop couches. Right in the middle of the scene shop, but no one would notice you there if they were five feet away, staring right at you.

The rain tapping lightly against the window was amplified by the thick glass windows so the light shower sounded like a thunderstorm.

The sound of footsteps moved closer towards the door from backstage and into the shop.

“Cassidy? Ready to go?”

Everything was calm and for a second, everything was ok.

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