A bitter wind whistled past the lonely marquee, stirring the fading posters. Inside, light flickered through the reels, strange shadows stretching between chairs. The reel ticked and whirred. Dust drifted across the ancient film, where black-and-white figures danced in an elegant ball-room, their sixteen-millimeter steps flawless but silent.
But among them were a few whose fashion wasn’t from the days of jazz and silent cinema. Their faces stretched in noiseless screams as they begged wordlessly to be released from their celluloid prison.
The film played on as it had since the day the old theater closed, all those decades ago.
Word Count: 100
This is for Friday Fictioneers. Thanks to Rochelle Wisoff-Fields for running the challenge and Shaktiki Sharma for running the challenge!