Damn the Man

[maddy_ricks]

At twenty-four years old, Madeleine Ricks was trapped in the body of a fifteen year old. Or so it appeared to the rest of the world. At 5’5”, she was of average height, but thin as a rail with limited curvature. The results were infuriating. Carded for alcohol, carded for smokes, and the latest insult, carded for Gore Fest at the Huntridge Theater. Only this time, she had stuffed cash in the pocket of her overalls and left her ID card at home.

The employee – who had barely scratched eighteen himself – suggested she bring her mother to sign a release form.

“You’ve gotta be kidding me!” she screeched. She slapped her palms on the plexi-glass that separated the ticket salesman from the throng of fans splattered in fake blood outside. Making a scene wouldn’t get her anywhere. On a cognitive level, Maddy understood it. But she had a hell of a temper. She grabbed the paper and rolled it up lengthwise. “Do me a favor, okay? Heh… you take this release form and you gently guide it up your pimple-covered ass!”

She left the window and paced in front of the building, chewing a hangnail.

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[devin_capshaw]

Devin stood, and the seat sprang back, showering his shoes with leftover popcorn. "Again with the logic. Don't do it too loudly, you'll give the theater a headache."

He shrugged, stepping carefully over trash that the other patrons had chosen to leave behind. "Maybe she had that stuff that allows, like, people to lift trucks and stuff. Adrenaline."

[maddy_ricks]

Maddy filed out of the auditorium and veered left instead of right. She wanted to leave by the same door as she entered so as to avoid an unnecessary confrontation with a duped employee. She dropped her trash in the barrel. “I’m still glad I saw it,” she said. “I shouldn’t bitch. I could be outside on the curb.” She pushed the release bar and wandered into the lot out back, assuming he would go out the same way.

[devin_capshaw]

He followed her aimlessly. "Well, you can't beat the price. Can't say the same for the popcorn, though."

Devin watched a group of older teens in the parking lot chatting and kicking an empty can around. "Do you ever think you could survive a horror movie by watching all the dumb shit people do in them? And just doing the opposite of that."

[maddy_ricks]

Maddy nodded. “Sure,” she said. “But I think I’m the spunky sidekick who gets picked off halfway through the movie. It tugs on the audience’s heartstrings and galvanizes the hero into action. I’m a plot device.” She crammed her fists in her pockets and rocked on her shoes. “What about you, who are you in the horror movie? Don’t say the writer.”

[devin_capshaw]

Devin shook his head, smiling. "Oh, no. I know exactly who I am."

"I'm that guy who catches what's going on first. You know, something sinister. But no one believes me because I'm not very credible. I mean, look at me."

He gestured to his faded t-shirt, battered and ripped jeans. "I think this is acceptable evening wear. I eat cereal for dinner. No one is going to believe me when I say, like, aliens are taking over the townspeople's bodies."

[maddy_ricks]

“It’s true,” she said. “You’re unkempt. And you will suffer the consequences for your poor comportment. You’ll get clubbed over the head and dragged down the stairs and no one will hear your cries for help because the stereo’s too loud. They will, however, trip over your decomposing body.”

Maddy shrugged.

[devin_capshaw]

"Yeah," he sighed, rubbing the stubble on his jaw contemplatively. "That sounds about right."

Devin looked at Maddy. "So, in case the aliens do show up, do you have a phone number? You know, so I can warn you first."

[maddy_ricks]

“Yeah.” Maddy patted her pockets and remembered she didn’t carry a pen around all day. Honestly, she wasn’t even sure why she felt around for one. It was like looking at her wrist when a stranger asked the time and she’d never worn a watch in her life. “Maybe. Do you have a writing utensil? I’m fresh out.”

[devin_capshaw]

He still had the pencil stub from the library in his jacket pocket. Devin handed it to her. "I read in some magazine about this trick. If you think someone is giving you a fake number, you read it back to them wrong."

"If they correct you, it's kosher."

Devin offered her his ticket stub to write on. "But I trust you."