The Projectionist by ex_cal
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Description
A machine gun rattling. A sun in a contraption, blazing streams of light. Film rifling past this sun.
And finally the gun falls silent. The sun dies.
He stands, and moves to the projector. For the last time.
His nightly routine is as it always has been. It seems as if it has been an eon. A billion years. Forever.
He packs away what he must. Sweeps what he must. As it always has been. Routine. Mechanical movements, done a thousand times before.
Exiting the room, the projectionist moves down a white hall. The cinema halls are empty. Fleeting images appeared to no-one. Someone else
Comments (5)
Goddess
Beautifuly written, as always .. so sad
Moebius87
I like the clipped staccato style you've used here. The disjointed cadence of the story gives the reader pause before the next burst of information. As always there is tragedy, loss and a deep intense passion that burns in your word craft. Excellent, my friend.
heartnsoul
Wow! If there was a way to give you applause I would do it! Excellent? No...this is just damned EXTRODINARY!! You baited me with the first paragraph, hooked by the second and just reeled me in the rest of the way. This has the effect of a gripping B&W movie. I enjoyed your write tremendously! ~Michelle~ :F:F:F
btm1228
Beautiful imagery, your storyline is exceptional. You do a wonderful job of bringing the reader into the world you have created.
ObsidianLogic
awesome well done perfect your style is just wow