#2: For One Night Only

"For one night only, you could come home on time!" the woman screamed. Her voice echoed through the thin walls of Joon's apartment, a marriage holding on by loose threads. Her neighbors had been doing this for weeks, months maybe? Time seemed to pass so slow these days.

Joon stood in her kitchen, gazing at the bright light bulb above her head. She was waiting, patiently, for it to flicker. Two days ago, the power had gone out in the Winthrop apartments, darkening the already gloomy hallways with black. 

Pitch black painted her eyes, and no matter how hard Joon blinked, it wouldn't go away. She had reached her way to her apartment's door, grasping her flashlight. 

Her feet had carried her down the dark stairwell, and right into a tall, top-heavy man. He grunted, not looking her way.  

"What are you doing in the basement, m'am?"

Joon's brain fizzled, eyes blinking wide. Suddenly, the lights had flickered back on, breath returning to her in puffs. Joon dropped her flashlight, stunned. His eyes looked back at her. They were the color of grey. Not sad, but tired grey. Swiftly she ran, forgetting her flashlight, legs carrying her back to her safe apartment, behind her sturdy door.

Her kitchen light was still on. An small orange bottle lay on her counter, her name meticulously labeled on the side, unopened. 

Joon decided to take a walk. Her feet carried her. They seemed to do that a lot, without her full permission. Her purple converses kept walking, till she was at the train station. 

There was a huge tent, more like a building, with windows and floors. There was a rusty ticket booth outside, a large sign splayed red letters, promising entertainment.  

     

                                                     HERE FOR ONE NIGHT ONLY. THURSDAY, 7PM. 

Something, Joon knew, had brought her here. Something she knew she would never find in that orange bottle. It was almost 8:30. She had to be home, under her green star sheets by exactly 9. Milk in her glass, black pen on her bedside, purple journal right beside it. Her shoes, right and left, by the door. Her brass knob, locked at 8:50.

 The tent was watching her, it's large arches asking her to come inside. She felt her dad's voice in her head. He was crying, yelling to her.

Joon's legs carried her home, pushing her solid weight forward, until she ran right into someone else. 

He laughed, his uniform bore his name. 

"What are you doing in the basement, m'am?"