Now is the climax to the story - Joshler

2

He wakes up early today

Throws on a mask that will alter his face

Nobody knows his real name

But now he just uses one he saw on a grave

He pretends that he's okay

But you should see

Him in bed late at night, he's petrified

Take me out, and finish this waste of a life

Everyone gather around for a show

Watch as this man disappears as we know

Do me a favor and try to ignore

As you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor

He thinks that faith might be dead

Nothing kills a man faster than his own head

He used to see dreams at night

But now he's just watching the backs of his eyes

He pretends that he's okay

But you should see

Him in bed late at night, he's petrified

Take me out, and finish this waste of a life

Everyone gather around for a show

Watch as this man disappears as we know

Do me a favor and try to ignore

As you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor

Take me out, and finish this waste of a life

Everyone gather around for a show

Watch as this man disappears as we know

Do me a favor and try to ignore

When you watch him fall through a bleeding trapdoor

'Cause nobody knows he's alive

~~~

The crowd snapped their fingers in appreciation of the poem, all eyes trained on the boy who stood on stage. He stood there for a moment, eyes on the floor before he turned and left the stage.

Josh had been seated in the audience, listening to the slam poems that people came up with, only finding one that really spoke to him every once in awhile. This was that time. Josh pushed himself up from his chair, keeping his eyes on the poet, being careful never to lose him in the crowd.

"That poem," Josh started, catching the boy's attention. He seemed briefly surprised, that only lasting a second before his face smoothed into a small smile, a shy one.

"It's just a little thing I wrote one night," he said, looking down to the floor. He seemed so small in that moment. The confidence he should have had in his poetry wasn't there. He was talking it down, writing it off as nothing important just because it was a late night thought, he didn't know the impact that his piece had had, on what he could make people feel.

"It may be a little thing but it speaks to a lot of people, me included," Josh explained. The boy's smile grew just a tad bit more.

"What's your name?"

"Josh."

"Well, Josh, I'll be seeing you," the boy said as he turned to leave, not giving Josh the chance to protest before he was gone, head still turned down as he slipped out the back door.

~~~

The poem sat heavy in Josh's stomach that night, the words eating away at his mind. There were plenty of poems that had an impact over Josh. A lot of them were sad and talked of failure or of depression. They were all beautiful and meant something to the writer and the audience but this one, it had an impact that left Josh with an eerie feeling that didn't leave.

He tried to remember the way that it was said, the way that the boy looked as he recited the words to the audience but Josh couldn't for the life of him remember. The boy's face was almost too plain while he spoke. Poets had a habit of exaggerating their facial expressions and movements to make sure that their point got across even to the people in the back. But not this one.

Josh could almost picture it in his head. Plain black clothing that covered his arms and legs, burying him in excess material that made him look smaller. Josh tried his hardest to remember his face, an expression, something, but nothing came to mind. Instead all he could picture was a blank face that was blurry and in the distance.

It made Josh shiver.

~~~

Josh felt sick all the next day. Not in the way that he would cough or stand over a toilet wishing that it would just end already. No, this was a sick that left him energyless. It was a depression that washed over him suddenly and wiped him out until he was left gasping for air and wishing he knew what had caused it. But Josh knew exactly what it was.

Josh knew and that's what drove him crazy.

He knew that it was the poem he had heard the night before. He'd dreamed of it even. He had been wishing and hoping and berating himself for not talking to the boy longer. He just wanted to talk, to ask about the poem, to remember something but he couldn't.

It was starting to bother him the way the boy could just slip away and not be seen by other patrons. How could he have been so surprised that someone liked his work?

Why was Josh still obsessing over it?

"Fuck this," Josh mumbled as he decided he would show up to the slam event that night in hopes of finding that boy.

~~~

Josh ended up getting there thirty minutes early. Just to be sure.

He sat in the audience, far enough back that it didn't make him look overly excited (though there was no mistaking he was when he was thirty minutes early) but also close enough towards the front that he could see just fine.

Josh ended up watching the stage crew set up microphones on the stage and then head out for their cigarette break. All the while Josh watched the people slowly start to enter the building. He inspected each face carefully, being sure to catch each one and not miss the entrance of one particular person. He got a couple of weird looks back, a couple points and whispers of 'that weird guy staring.' Josh was beyond caring though because he was on a mission. He wasn't sure why exactly he felt so compelled but he did and he needed and it made his head hurt.

Thirty minutes later and the event had started and the boy was nowhere to be seen.

Josh slouched in his seat and his lip stuck out in a little bit of a pout as he gave up on finding the boy.

For that night.

He ended up in the exact same seat the next night.

And the night after that.

Each night he was met with the same disappointment as he never found the boy again.