he takes the blue couch n on him comes the spot light
that was The stage, that night
thousands of emotions rush through the mind, amidst thousands of fears and thousands of people, while he performs
a chase, for eternity, like a stallion in a snowstorm.
the sound of the writing pen, he writes with, is deafening him
he's unable to tolerate it.he puts the blame on the paper and the angle of the pen and the writing posture and...
he strikes a match, instinctively, to put an end to the noise
just to divert the energy on the flame, slowly burning down the stick
the desire for victory, racing through the debris of fear...
staring at the fresh smoking burn
the heat stealthily creeps into his senses and finally reaches his breath, surging and dipping,
gives he, a firm pause and then stands up.
the snowstorm is hurting him no more.
the performance, that night, couldn't be better!
a roar of applause, euphoric though, stings a nascent silence inside him.
:-) "i'm missing the struggle. the struggle, i struggled to win, i won.", sighs he.
the play ends...