Sweating. Always sweating. Hands damp and drips drip drop dripping down a back with a slouch weighed down by uncertainty. He could hear the combination of voices (sneers and chatting) all blending to a muffled mass indistinct but growing. Pounding. There’s a pounding in a chest. A chest that holds a heart to be exposed to be left bare. Out there. Out there. A bear balancing on a ball. A circus act: no more. Speaking words. Words he taught himself. Words of fear or fact: it doesn’t matter anymore. A turn around, a spin: 180 is the goal. Overshot and overthinking: 360 start again.
They’re all going to laugh at you: she reassured as his name was called.
Footsteps fall and he takes stage: a clown in a human suit, ready steady hoping: to be laughed with.