The lights dimmed, casting long shadows across empty seats. The room felt too quiet…
The stage stretched endlessly, the space between him and the audience blurring until their faces disappeared into darkness.
A heartbeat pounds, coming from a single spotlight that cuts through the darkness. Standing there, bathed in its unforgiving light, is a young man gloomy, shoulders tense, hair tousled like he hadn't bothered to fix it. His breath is shallow. His hands tremble at his sides. The name tag pinned to his chest shifts with each quiver, barely hanging on.
In the rows below, the crowd watches eyes sharp, like predators eager for the spectacle. Some exchange mocking glances, lips curling into cruel smiles. The scene is familiar: expectation, judgment, and masked cruelty.
Only one man in the front row doesn't shift the director. Stern, unreadable, his gaze fixed on the stage. He offers a small, almost imperceptible nod.
A breath catches in the young man's chest a fragile moment of assurance. He tries to steady himself, hands still trembling. He begins to move calculated, graceful, full of emotion, not stiff like a dance. But his words falter, stuttering before they pause.
The scene collapses mid-line. A heavy hush falls, followed by laughter that rises like a wave, swallowing the silence.
"He tried, I almost believed him," one voice sneers, dripping with false sympathy.
"He starts high, then falls flat pathetic," another mutters, a mocking grin evident.
"I knew from the beginning," a third remarks, their voice condescending, "he was just an idiot."
His gaze drifts past the jeering faces, and for a fleeting moment, it meets one man the director. Their eyes lock, and in that instant, the disappointment in the director's gaze pierces him like a thousand needles. Then, without a word, the director looks away, fading into the sea of indifferent faces, as if he had never truly seen him at all. His chest tightens. His expression darkens.
He retreats into the half-lit corridors, oblivious to the bustle around him. He passes crew and cast alike, their faces blurring as he moves forward.
He walks toward the exit. The rain pours down, and the memory of the director's disappointed gaze flashes in his mind. The tears break free, streaming down his face. He steps into the storm one step, two steps, then three and suddenly, he's running. His feet carry him without aim, past the crowds, past the alleys, as the city fades into nothingness.
He pauses.
Shhhhaaaa...
For a moment, the world slows.
The rain falls like static, endless and uncaring. His clothes cling to him, heavy and cold. The city below hums, blind to his presence. He stands on the overpass—still, hollow. Eyes devoid of emotion. Breath shallow. Step by step, as if pulled...
At the edge...
"I guess that light was never meant to be mine."
Step... step... step... One foot after another...
Slowly vanishing into the rain.
Shhhhaaaa...
The sound of the rain intensifies, sharp and cold. The noise of the city rushes back, as if nothing had happened. Life moves on, uncaring.
Wewooooo... Wewoooo...