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December 17, 2007

Ted: Thank You Mr. Brooks

The doctor scanned the auditorium for any hint that the assembled crowd actually understood what they had seen. He huddled backstage, the anger and fear of the crowd a wall of force, pushing him aside. His tuxedo, the height of fashion for this dashing man about town, was torn where someone from the audience had rushed the stage in anger. Even the woman with the trendy fur stole had lost her composure. Under all the screams, he could still hear "Puttin' on the Ritz" playing on the gramophone.

But none of that mattered. The Creature, and his credibility, had fled.

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