Midnight Movie

Wide shot of a throne room. The king and the princess are seated next to each other at the end of the hall. Gilded tapestries depicting the noble deeds of knights line the walls at an even interval. Their bodies are mostly obscured by large shields branded with their families’ coats of arms.

A crimson carpet ends at the feet of the king and starts at the doors, which suddenly swing open, thundering against the stone. The nobleman enters, accompanied by a ray of sunshine that makes his luscious blonde locks seem radiant. The sunlight extends about halfway into the room. The king’s face remains in darkness. The nobleman bows and greets the princess with a poem that is short but sufficiently specific.

Framed by a medium shot, he begins walking towards the thrones, careful to maintain a posture both befitting his high standing and accentuating his humility and submission before the king. Despite his best efforts, he appears to shrink with every step. Just as his illustrious coat disappears below the frame, the perspective returns to a wide shot. We now see that rather than shrink, the nobleman has been steadily sinking into the carpet.

He continues trying to wade towards the princess but struggles to even lift his legs. Dark red mud spills over the carpet's sides. The sunbeam fades away. A sudden gust of wind blows into the hall. The nobleman stumbles. He tries to get back up, but his arms are stuck. A medium close-up allows us to see his chest shivering as it heaves and falls, his dull hair covering his downturned face. It has begun to rain. The king rises.

His body has been swallowed by layers of cashmere and velvet. Encumbered by enumerable jewels and golden trinkets, he is an amorphous cone of power peaking in the needlepoint of his uncrowned head. As he extends his leg backwards, lightning strikes outside and illuminates his face for a split-second close-up shot, revealing empty eye sockets and a dangling jaw kept attached only by a thin string of decomposing skin. Then, his leg juts forward.

The king kicks the end of the carpet. It begins to roll itself up like the tongue of a frog. The nobleman is overrun and wrapped up by the fabric. His screams attain a curious vibrato effect as he is spun towards the door. The princess jumps up and waves after her adored hero with a white handkerchief, but her encouraging well-wishes are drowned out by the rolling thunder of the lightning strike from before, which has only now reached the throne room. The nobleman is thrown out into the storm, and the doors snap shut behind him.

***

The windowfront was being used as a film screen. Tonight's showing was some bizzare medieval drama. I wasn't really paying attention, but it's not like I would have understood anything in the first place, since it was a foreign movie without subtitles. The voices on the phone provided what they assured me was an accurate simultaneous translation as part of the 'deluxe entertainment package' I had never ordered, but it seemed more like adlibbing to me:

"Nyeah! I am the king! Look at my fancy clothes! He he he..."

"I own many hotels. My hotels provide the best service. I am the king of service. Hihi."

...and so on. I had zoned out long ago. The fear which had earlier held me in a chokehold had given way to resignation. With nothing better to do, I let my gaze wander through the room. Despite the circumstances, there was something nostalgic about it. Mimiko and I had spent our honeymoon lazing about in a room just like this, in a hotel in one of the few remaining quiet corners of Hawaii. The owner was an uncle of hers who had emigrated after the war. He cut us an amazing deal. We couldn't have afforded anything else, anyway.

Our fellow guests were a regularly exchanged roster of travelling businessmen. We'd take our sweet time with breakfast and watch them run into the dining hall, scarf down some eggs, burn their lips on the terrible coffee and rush back out, their ties flapping in the breeze. I pitied them back then. Now...

What did it feel like, laying next to her on that bed...? The sensation refused to return. It'd been too long.

"Hey!"

The second voice screamed into my ear and ripped me out of my sweet memories. I realized that credits were now rolling over the windowfront.

"Aren't you going to eat? What are you waiting for, huh!? This wasn't easy to get up here, you know..."

The voice ended its tirade with an indignant pop. I sighed.

"What...?"

A crackle.

"As part of your deluxe package, you have been provided with refreshments. Please turn to your right to partake of our house chef's finest."

So now there was a chef involved...? I turned to my right. A food trolly had somehow been parked right next to the bed. Of course. Seeing it reminded me of those last two weeks of my father's life, when the meds had finally stopped being enough for him to work through the pain and we were forced to stick him into a hospice. The nurses would roll up to him with their carts and try their hardest to get him to eat. It was like getting a dog to swallow medicine. His gown was always covered in food stains telling of his thrashing battles against the hands that fed him. He died cursing us out.

I lifted the lid. Beneath it was a beautifully plated stack of dry instant ramen bricks.

"What."

The second voice was laughing whole-heartedly.

"That's right, boy. We went all out for you. Now, eat! Eat, won't you...?"

The phone cord around my neck tightened once again, suggesting what might happen if I didn't heed their command. I reluctantly picked up the chopsticks and split them.

"Go ahead..."

I began poking at the brick on top. It was easily made to crumble. Pieces of uncooked noodle landed on the carpet. It quickly became apparent to me that my best shot at getting any of it down my throat would be to break off a larger slice and cram the whole thing in at once. It took some finagling. I instantly regretted it. The noodles felt awful in my mouth. I realized that there was no way I could swallow them in this state. Panic set in. I started kicking the bedframe to keep the impulse to pull them out in check. After a gruelling couple of minutes, my saliva had softened the noodles enough for me to get them down. I swallowed multiple times and felt a lump in my throat. Another horribly wet popping noise came through the receiver.

"Goooood, good... You've taken the first step towards recovery... Keep eating, and you will grow big and strong!"

I sniffled.

"N... No..."

"What!?"

What had started as a slow and steady drip of tears had quickly escalated into full on sobbing. Part of me was embarrassed that something this pathetic would be my breaking point, but there was nothing holding back the flood now.

"No! I refuse to eat this! I don't care anymore! Take your beloved chef by the hands and jump of the roof together, all three of you! Just... Just leave me alone already!!"

The line went silent. No crackle, no pop, for the first time in what felt like hours. Just when I thought they might have finally given up, the second voice returned, louder than ever:

"WHAT AN ENTITLED, UNGRATEFUL LITTLE... WHY, YOU...! YOU JUST WAIT..."

Suddenly, the receiver unwound itself from my neck and leapt towards the armchair. It landed on the collar of my shirt, at the spot where my tie usually sat. The suit started peeling itself off the back of the chair. The sight was so confounding that I instantly stopped crying. Before my bespectacled eyes, my clothes got up and began lumbering towards me.