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butter on her popcorn, feel the warmth of what wasn’t really her body. I’m an insomniac, I thought. I try to dream like all the others, but can only curse the pillow beneath my head.

I was aware of some slight noises in the front row, and that they were making me uncomfortable. As the movie’s villain planted poisoned flowers in the path to Emerald City, to make the travelers fall asleep, a loud scream and laughter erupted. A slampak of Tiger Blood smacked into the movie screen.

The spell was broken.

People everywhere were suddenly shifting in their seats and tapping on control panels. A badly dressed kid with huge foam hair stood up and yelled about how “statick” and “wheeled” the special effects were, to the enjoyment of at least two loser friends.

“Why do they even breathe?” Vair said, “Don’t those slunks have anything better to do with their time?”

The group was ejected, the energy drink all over the screen disappearing with them. There were a few hushed comments like “the nerve of those people” and “see you never” as the room returned to normal – for everyone else; for me and Vair, bits of advertisements flicked through our vision, ads from elsewhere that clashed with the style of the theater. I heard some kind of hum for a few seconds and the seat coloring became red.

“Why can’t things just work?” Vair said as the environment