(no subject)
Just a quick drabble inspired by one of the 'Writer's Book of Matches' prompts.
Title: The Old Jacobson
Words: 516
Rating: PG
The crowds drifted past the old Jacobson theatre like curious flocks of birds. Titles of movies flashed on the yellowing notice board for anyone with enough money to buy a ticket. A long line was piling up for the Saturday matinee and the local rubes were scrounging for girls to company them.
He smiles faintly to himself as he watches the younger men. He had a few memories, old and withered, of doing the same thing when he was just a lad. That Jacobson theatre was always like that; must have been at least twenty years since he tried getting Betty to come with him. He pulled down his gray, shapeless hat down over his eyes with a sly smile coming over his features. Those were the good days, those.
A few boys and their catches moved through the dirty double doors. Slowly, he was able to scoot up a few feet. He followed dutifully with a hand deep in his overcoat pocket. The change fumbled in his pocket. Which one? That was the question, wasn’t it? A couple in front of him was talking about just that question; however it looked like they were having more success.
“You get your damn hands off my girl, Baker!”
Red-faced Ross was thundering down the street with a vengeful glint in his bloodshot eyes. When the old man was pushed aside, the familiar piney scent of alcohol drifted off Ross like flies from a butcher’s scrap pile. His brown hair was wispy and he grabbed Baker by the front of his shirt. The girl tried to separate the two, tears cascading into a pitiful puddle in front of the theatre. Baker broke free and blackened Ross’s eye.
The other young men were forming a loose circle of interest around the fight while the clerk manning the tickets ran off for the manager. The old man was pushed into the outer circle but he didn’t go easily. What a day off this was! He pushed his way to the two youngsters brawling.
Baker was clearly winning, being taller and sober; Ross didn’t seem to care that he didn’t have a chance. The old man had enough of those two fighting for a foolish reason. Trying to push between them, he gave Ross an accidental shove. He backed off for a minute, blinking stupidly. Then he recoiled with righteous fury. “Don’t get in my way, old-timer!”
He had bounced back with a weapon: a pocket knife that had been hidden in his coat pocket. He lunged at Baker but, of course, the distance was off. The old man stumbled back into the crowd clutching his chest. A few bystanders tried to steady him as an ever growing splotch of red started to drip crimson onto the concrete.
Ross was fading away with his slow surprised expression; the girl whose mascara running was blurring with Baker and the clerk and the ambulance worker. It made his eyes ache and he closed his eyes. “Who’s going to open shop?” he asked to the air.
The obituary in the Sunday paper was short.
Prompt: A dentist is stabbed while he waits in line at the movies.
Title: The Old Jacobson
Words: 516
Rating: PG
The crowds drifted past the old Jacobson theatre like curious flocks of birds. Titles of movies flashed on the yellowing notice board for anyone with enough money to buy a ticket. A long line was piling up for the Saturday matinee and the local rubes were scrounging for girls to company them.
He smiles faintly to himself as he watches the younger men. He had a few memories, old and withered, of doing the same thing when he was just a lad. That Jacobson theatre was always like that; must have been at least twenty years since he tried getting Betty to come with him. He pulled down his gray, shapeless hat down over his eyes with a sly smile coming over his features. Those were the good days, those.
A few boys and their catches moved through the dirty double doors. Slowly, he was able to scoot up a few feet. He followed dutifully with a hand deep in his overcoat pocket. The change fumbled in his pocket. Which one? That was the question, wasn’t it? A couple in front of him was talking about just that question; however it looked like they were having more success.
“You get your damn hands off my girl, Baker!”
Red-faced Ross was thundering down the street with a vengeful glint in his bloodshot eyes. When the old man was pushed aside, the familiar piney scent of alcohol drifted off Ross like flies from a butcher’s scrap pile. His brown hair was wispy and he grabbed Baker by the front of his shirt. The girl tried to separate the two, tears cascading into a pitiful puddle in front of the theatre. Baker broke free and blackened Ross’s eye.
The other young men were forming a loose circle of interest around the fight while the clerk manning the tickets ran off for the manager. The old man was pushed into the outer circle but he didn’t go easily. What a day off this was! He pushed his way to the two youngsters brawling.
Baker was clearly winning, being taller and sober; Ross didn’t seem to care that he didn’t have a chance. The old man had enough of those two fighting for a foolish reason. Trying to push between them, he gave Ross an accidental shove. He backed off for a minute, blinking stupidly. Then he recoiled with righteous fury. “Don’t get in my way, old-timer!”
He had bounced back with a weapon: a pocket knife that had been hidden in his coat pocket. He lunged at Baker but, of course, the distance was off. The old man stumbled back into the crowd clutching his chest. A few bystanders tried to steady him as an ever growing splotch of red started to drip crimson onto the concrete.
Ross was fading away with his slow surprised expression; the girl whose mascara running was blurring with Baker and the clerk and the ambulance worker. It made his eyes ache and he closed his eyes. “Who’s going to open shop?” he asked to the air.
The obituary in the Sunday paper was short.
Prompt: A dentist is stabbed while he waits in line at the movies.