Coming Down

Coming Down

He didn’t remember exactly how long he’d been lying here in the dark that had grown. The digital clock had dropped out in a power-surge and flashed red zeroes; he’d been staring through them. It was so difficult to blink, felt heavy to breathe. He felt so worn out, old.

The hotel bed was thin, not glamorous, nor was the room, nothing his audience would’ve tolerated. They continued their drinking, merry-making down the road; he could still hear their laughter resonate in his head, see their eyes cast down on him.

He’d begun strong and confident in his craft, stubborn to ignore the hurt the sound still brought from the hidden darkness of forgotten shame.