The Last Curtain

A place where stories flickered to life in the dark.

For years, the hum of my lights, the shuffle of feet, the rustle of popcorn bags — all were part of the rhythm of my existence. People came to me to escape, to dream, to laugh, to cry. I was the keeper of their secrets, a refuge for every tear and burst of laughter.

But now, my halls are silent. The crowds are gone. The lights are dimming. Tonight, they’ll go out for the last time, and the doors will close forever.

As the world changed, they stopped coming. First it was the small films, then the blockbusters. Streaming took over. One by one, my visitors trickled away.

Except for her.

She came alone, every week. She would sit in the back row, eyes glued to the screen, as if she were escaping into a world that I could protect. She stayed until the credits. Tonight, she came again, but this time, halfway through, she stood up and walked toward the door. She looked at me one last time. And I knew.

The world is moving on, and so must I. But I will always remember. I was more than just brick and mortar. I was a keeper of moments. The stories, the laughter, the tears — they will live on in the memories of all who came through my doors.

Created by Erica Latasha