"The World Of Cinema"

Turning into the lobby, ticket in hand, the old man took in his surroundings. The smell of the fresh popcorn, and something sickly sweet he couldn't quite name, mixed with the smell of his own cologne – put on specially for the occasion. It was a smell he'd never forget. His fist wrapped tightly around his ticket and receipt, he wondered where he would be taken in this massive building...

He was still amused by the fact that it was so often referred to as a “cinema” now. It had always been “the pictures” to himself, and his childhood friends. It had even been “the talkies” to his mother, but she could never afford to take him. In fact, he'd never been able to see a film on the big screen before – he'd always been too strapped for cash to splash out on such a luxury. The mines were dark, and dingy, unlike the magical darkness he imagined awaited him now.

The paper in his hand crumpled a little as he stared up to the high ceilings. He quickly looked back down, and straightened his ticket out, pushing the receipt into his suit-jacket pocket as a memento for the future. He'd dressed up for this – his first trip to the picture palace.

He checked his watch for the time, knowing that he was more than a little early. He didn't have much of an interest in the film he was going to see – in fact, he barely knew what it was about – but he was there for the experience. He wanted to know what he'd been missing out on.

Slowly, savouring the sights and smells, he wandered over to a large, deceptively comfortable-looking chair, where he sat gingerly. He placed his walking stick between the seats and looked over to the concessions stand. His lips curled in amusement. Again, he glanced at the ticket and laughed to himself – tickets had changed his life. Firstly, it had been the train ticket to see his daughter. He'd been early then too, so, on a whim, he bought his second ticket – a lottery ticket from the Post Office by the station. The third ticket had been to London, to collect his winnings. The fourth, this, his first extravagant buy.

The little boy in him was alive and well, as he laughed aloud at the prices of popcorn and sweets. He muttered, “Not even if I had a million... Oh wait.” He laughed again, and shook his head.

Between his knees, he had placed a small carrier bag, containing a Thermos flask of tea and a bag of Revels. He knew he probably wouldn't need them, but he wanted the full experience, without the price. A lifetime of hard work and poverty had taught him the value of a little thrifty thinking.

Constantly clock-watching, the man pondered the lives of the people surrounding him. He wondered why the usher looked so flustered, when all it seemed he was doing was ripping paper and pointing. He wondered why the lady serving drinks sounded like a man. He wondered if she'd ever find her calling in life, or if she was stuck here, the way he'd been stuck underground for so many years. He wondered if the mother with the three screaming children would be watching the same film as him. He wondered why she wasn't in work – why they weren't in school. He thought about the man that had sold him the ticket. He wondered if that man actually cared what he was talking about – he'd talked such a good game. He wondered if that man in a suit worked in the building, or just walked around like that all the time. He wondered why time had slowed down, the closer it got to show-time. He wondered if he could go in yet.

His hand trembled as he showed Willy Wonka his golden ticket. “It's not ready yet, sorry,” the usher replied.

He wondered what they had to do to make the screen ready. He glanced over to the screaming children again and smiled to himself – menaces.

Standing beside the barrier, the man watched a young girl serve an older couple. She seemed to know them, so they must have been regulars. The way she talked so freely, so happily about the film they were about to see, he could tell she cared. She was cautious not to spoil anything, but still seemed to talk for a good while.

“It's ready now,” the usher returned. “Okay?”

The man nodded and smiled, once again handing his ticket over. He hoped he would get the larger half, but was disappointed with the stub. He placed it carefully into his pocket with the receipt. No matter. He'd keep it anyway.

“Second on the left. Enjoy your film.”

“Thank you,” the man grinned, as he finally saw a glint of hope in the usher's eyes. Maybe he would be less stressed when he came back out? Maybe not.

The weird patterns of the carpet made his journey from the lobby to the screen an interesting one. He tried to work out which dark patches were stains, and which were designed. He wondered how long the seats had been there, and if he'd moved them, would the carpet be a different colour underneath. He had no doubt that it would. The corridor stretched on for ever, with colours and lights everywhere, and doors to whole new worlds on either side. His heart raced as he relished every sense, every little new thing. The smell of popcorn had followed him, but it seemed staler now. Still nice, but less warm. He made himself aware of the toilets and their location. He'd avoid them if he could, but he liked to know.

The name of the film flashed above him, and his smile grew ever wider as he opened the large, thick door, and walked into darkness. Spotlights led the way to the ample seating. Row after row of choice presented themselves. No-one else was in there, so he had full choice of where to go. As always, he plumped for the middle. The very middle.

Pulling the seat down, he laughed at a lonesome piece of popcorn dropped, abandoned underneath. He didn't care that this place wasn't perfect. If he were anyone else, he probably wouldn't have even noticed. He liked the way the screen felt – cosy, not scary at all. The screen was edged by large curtains, and he felt a little disappointment as he realised there would be no great unveiling. He decided not to worry about it. Instead, he covered his eyes, and removed his hands slowly, creating the effect himself. A moment's silence fell, before he broke it by moving his bag; the crinkle of the plastic echoing throughout the room, warning him to take his things out now. He placed his Thermos in the cup holder on his right, and his Revels wedged in the holder on his left. He opened the packet and carefully placed the torn-off top back into his bag. He stole one of his own toffee ones.

Sucking the chocolate off before biting into the sugary centre, he looked around at the tiny lights in the ceiling, and the ornate lights on the walls. He looked behind himself, to the projector, lighting just two or three feet in front of itself. He couldn't see anyone up there, so he wondered how long he'd have to wait. His eyes strained to see his watch – five more minutes.

A younger couple walked into the screen, chatting loudly, about one thing or another. He couldn't care what, he just wished they'd be quiet once the film started. They sat in front of him, so he smiled to himself as he thought he could at least throw his chocolates at them if they didn't.

The screen then started to slowly fill. People of all ages started to pile into the room, standing at the bottom of the stairs for a moment to choose their spots. The man watched, as each new group held up the people behind, only to choose the area with least people already sat there. He chuckled, as he revelled in his perfect seat.

As the sounds and smells of the screen changed due to the people, the sights changed as the lights dimmed further, and the screen turned a lighter shade of off-black. He would never have noticed such a subtle change anywhere else, but as he glanced back at the projector, he saw a man, doing something with the machine, and the light now stretched across the room to the black expanse of canvass.

Gradually the noise died down, and the colour of the screen became lighter and lighter, until loudly and all at once, trailers and adverts blared into view. His heart racing, the man found himself taking one last chocolate, before falling fully amerced into a world he'd never known before... the world of cinema.