![]() ![]() So, when the Numberlys were introduced, I felt my body stand still, attention switched from my popcorn to the large screen. Being compared to others is genuinely the only thing that ever truly crushed me. My favorite pair of jeans sat still in the back of my closet, replaced by black leggings that the others wore. ![]() Everyone was alike, and I didn’t like it. I had friends, but that ongoing comparison towards others, especially as “groups” started to settle in, was soul crushing. I accepted that in order to fit in, I had to show that I knew how to. And each day, I was influenced to become like others. Gradually, the longer I stayed at school, the more I shifted. I felt as though I could connect with these poor numbers, stomping through everyday life in black and white. Understanding how they went about their day with not only law and order, but similarity, took a great deal of self comprehension. Every number was the same, with no invention or idea of uniqueness. The Numberlys experienced something similar. Everyone was accepted and could present their passions and interests easily before, but here, the people were terrifying, and I had no idea how they would see me. I felt like an outcast, not nearly what I used to be. It was about what you possessed, and then how others interpreted it. All of a sudden, it wasn’t about who you were anymore. Everyone surrounding me wore certain clothes, had styled hair, and carried the same backpacks wearing similar jewelry. I felt different, but not necessarily older. Yet, throughout middle school, everything was new. Growing up, I had many friends and connections. “The Numberlys” was something that resonated so much with me, the feelings deep in my heart. The second film he presented was introduced much like the first, until I understood the concept that he explained. Throughout his teachings, I never knew how much time and effort it took to produce a short film, simply aware of the outcome. William Joyce was an extremely inspirational speaker. As soon as we sat, a voice began speaking and I couldn’t wait to see what would happen next. We got stamps on our hands and walked through to a black room, lights dimmed and families chattering. As soon as I saw the curved red arc, people gathering under it and stamping tickets, the warm, buttery smell of popcorn wafting through the two doors, I blinked, attention igniting. That day, I was definitely not interested in anything to do with storytelling, more engaged in my phone or video games. And then, instantly before us, was a theater. Minutes elapsed, bars of billowing smoke from a lit cigarette on the floor. The numberlys movie windows#The sour, pungent smell of bleach, open windows thick with oil, wax and dust, plated with textured glass. The bad side of town, air hot and still, corroded metal, smashed bonnets of cars. ![]()
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