Balcony Scene
The energy knife throbs in my hand, emitting a faint blue, electric glow. The unlit lobby is quiet, the concession stand unmanned. Plush carpeting silences my steps. A sign steers me to the staircase. At the top, I slip inside. The balcony is empty except for two figures in the front row. The pair, a male and a female, are silhouetted by the flickering sepia of the screen. Which will be my victim? I can’t remember. Drugs have dulled my senses. Time is short. I have to be decisive.
Onscreen, a woman with dark hair has shot a man. She seems stunned by her deed. How can that be? What purpose does a gun have, other than to deal death.
I glide into the second row, slithering closer until I crouch directly behind the couple. I remember my assignment and plunge the knife into the man’s neck. The recoil vibration nearly shakes the weapon from my grasp, but I hold tight. He struggles for a moment and then slumps. The woman stares straight ahead. She knows.
I have played my role, but the drama has a final act. The woman turns. I lean forward, expecting a kiss, but an old-fashioned stiletto slides between my ribs. She smiles, her face half-lit by the screen. I feel no pain. My vision darkens. Some say you live twice. I hope they’re right.