Centre Stage By D.I. Jolly

I always thought it would be cold and dark at the bottom. Someone had told me it would be.

But it is still possible to drown in bright clear water, on a hot sunny day, surrounded by people.

I spent my life being the prankster, the trickster, the centre of attention, the joker, the good laugh.

So why should it end any other way?

I started doing it to be safe, to make friends, to make sure no one ever got too angry with me, or expected too much.

When did it turn so hostile?

At some point the pressure to be a slacker became almost unbearable.

I called out to them all before I dove in.

Had to make sure everyone was watching; had to know they’d see what I was doing now.

And they did, and they laughed, rolled their eyes, commented, pointed and did nothing.

Everyone look at me!

Everyone looking at me,

No one seeing me.

No one saw the stone, not even me.

No one saw the change,

A look of panic, desperately seeking approval, changed into a look of panic, desperately seeking saving.

Is the same look.

The same meaning.

Everyone watched, no one moved.

Not even me.

The stage went quiet, the crowd just stared. Not even the sound of crickets chirping.

I always thought it would be different, I always thought I’d find the meaning, the purpose.

I always thought they were watching.

I always thought they liked me.

I never believed they cared.

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