Life Speed: Facing the Monsters in the Hallway.

The air in the DragonCon viewing rooms always feels heavy, thick with the scent of energy drinks and the low hum of old projectors. I was there late with the boys, settled in for Blood: The Last Vampire. On the surface, it’s a standard hunt—a girl named Saya and her katana. But the lens is skewed; you’re forced to see the carnage through the eyes of the school nurse, a character just as lost as the audience.

You’re left with questions that the film has no interest in answering. But in between the strikes of the blade, the film does something Western media is often too restless to attempt: it breathes. It lingers on the quiet, messy "thought" behind the action.

I’ve realized I’m no longer looking for the next explosion; I’m looking for that "life speed." We spend so much time focused three miles down the road that we blow right past the turn we’ve been looking for for hours. Gut instinct is vital, sure, but there is a specific power in slowing down just enough to hear the argument. Sometimes, the pause doesn't change your mind—it just reinforces why you believed in the first place.

So, how do we finally listen to that voice?

Imagine the trembling moment as the monster rises in the dim hallway and turns its gaze toward you. In the movies, that’s when the music swells and the hero swings. But in reality, that’s the moment of total, terrifying silence. That monster is the thing in your head you’ve spent years refusing to hear—the realization that you’re settling, or the quiet admission that you’ve been wrong. We run from the silence because it’s the only place that voice can speak. But if you want to be a better steward of your time, you have to stop running. You have to stand in the hallway, let the monster turn, and finally listen to what it has to say.

Besides, sometimes those big monsters turn out to be simply shadows when we slow down.

• Word Count: ~375 words

• Approximate Read Time: 1 minute, 45 seconds