AUDITORIUM

She squints, peering through the floodlights and the rolling camcorders, at the opposing faded-plaster walls where it held a clock. The long hand is still barely over a quarter to five. Fifteen minutes remain and she gulps. She tries to, at least; her throat is dried up. It’s uncomfortable, but involuntarily her eyes dart over to the podium beside her, at her opponent.

There they stand checking their notes. She can see their fingers tapping— their nervous tick. Appears they are still working on a response, so here’s a short reprieve for the time being.

After a light sip of water, she begins an anecdote. Something about her childhood and the local foosball club, but, regardless, she has to stall. She needs to give them time.

OFFICE - NIGHT

He pulls open a drawer of a metal cabinet and an orderly array of files slides out. Flashlight in mouth, he flicks through the aging manila folders: 1982, 1983, 1984…

Another figure stands close, standing by and occasionally peering out the window to check down the hall. After a few minutes, they return next to him and readjust their overstuffed backpack. And as he glances up, they return a worried look.

He shrugs his shoulders and tries the next cabinet. He’s worried.

AUDITORIUM As she recounts the slow decline of the untimely sports-like club, she notices the previously flashing specks of red lights have distinguished. Why did everyone stop recording?

OFFICE - NIGHT

He found it! He pulls the contained files and stashes them into his jacket. His flashlight turns towards the window. On-Off. On-Off. A rustle in the bushes and they are off.

They got it.

AUDITORIUM

But she stops. The floodlights flicker and in the quick flashes of darkness, her eyes find purchase on… stares. The wide eyes of parents and siblings, transfixed towards the stage. What’s happening?

And the lights die. The auditorium, devoured by darkness, is further dissolved into silence. A pure, unadulterated silence that settles and sits with her. Watching her.

She tries to clear her throat but nothing happens. Her heart is racing. She takes a cursory glance beside her to hopefully catch any semblance of objects from the slivers of moonlight escaping from the sparse nearby windows.

But her debate partner was not at the podium. Instead, as she dreaded, it was here.

OFFICE - NIGHT

The friends rush over to the auditorium and swing the doors open. But within, it was empty. Chairs left vacant and in disarray. The stage retained two podiums but none with their owner.

It appears they were too late.