The Velvet Room

The silvery soft glow of nitrate. The sizzling incandescence of an arc lamp. The flicker of film running through the gate. The alive, buzzing swarms of grain on a faded print. The murmur of the audience, although it was just you in here, moments ago.The face on the screen the face in the mirror. Are they the same? If only you could remember you. If only you knew which was which.The wind whipping through your hair as you drive, far away from this place, streetlamps and headlights and the silver globe of the moon streaking hot and bright across your eyes. This has happened before. Will it happen...