See if you can guess the film I watched this past week…


The expectant audience watched on as Malcolm the Miraculous wriggled and flailed. Water spilled from the glass box, covering the stage and the baying men in the front row. They lapped it up, hungry for the climax. Malcolm shook and kicked the glass. Bubbles frantically fluttered to the surface. The rusty lock around his neck remained untouched.

The room fell silent.

* * * *

A tall man lowered his hand and the camera flashes stopped. The gaggle of reporters flitted away to their seats. Quiet muttering slowly receded as Barry the Brave cleared his throat.

“I still mourn his passing.” He paused, dabbing one eye with the corner of his sleeve. “But the show must go on.”

He answered their ensuing questions gracefully and sympathetically. The room even shared a chuckle at one point.

The tall man rose from his seat and opened his arms wide. “So make sure you come along to see his opening show tomorrow night!”

* * * *

Two men raced onto the stage from either side. One climbed to the top of the box and reached down. The other smashed into the glass with a small fire axe. The glass was strong, durable, and offered full resistance. The other man soon found his arm’s were too short to reach the scruff of the escape artist’s neck. His hands flailed wildly in the water, like an angry fish caught in a net.

The bubbles stopped.

The men in the front row leapt to the stage. One pushed past the man on the top of the box and jumped inside. He raised Malcolm to the surface where his buddies helped pull him from the glass tomb. They all fell to the floor.

The room gasped.

Then, silence.

* * * *

“Yes, that’s him.”

The attendant pulled the cover back other the dead man’s face.

Barry the Brave watched on as the body was slid back into darkness. A tall man placed a cold hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Barry shrugged.

“I know it’s tough,” the tall man said. “But I have a proposition for you.”

His back turned, Barry smiled.

* * * *

A child’s screams grated on his pounding head. He wanted to step out from the shadows, to shout at the mother to make it stop. But not today; he couldn’t draw attention to himself.

He watched on as his brother lay motionless on the old stage. Several men tried in vain to resuscitate him. A doctor in the audience made himself known and scurried to the front. A shake of the head told everybody what they already knew.

The audience was quickly ushered from the theatre; Barry the Brave made his exit hidden amongst them. Nervous whispers and shocked mutterings filled his ears. It had been quite a show.

He wandered home alone, quickening his pace to make sure he’d be there when the phone call came. At the first sewer grate he passed, he took a rusty old key from his pocket and dropped it deep into the depths below


Author: jackkholt

Film graduate. Lover of lots of good films and quite a few bad ones. Reader. Writer. Novel in progress, obviously.

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