After the Fall
He finally collapses when there is nothing left inside him to hold himself up.
A moment ago he was still standing in the middle of the wreckage, forcing himself to stay upright as if that alone could prove he was still in control. But the anger, the adrenaline, the last stubborn piece of pride keeping him on his feet all give out at once. His legs buckle beneath him, and he drops into the mess of broken wood, scattered papers, shattered frames, and overturned pieces of his life.
Now he is on the floor in the middle of it all.
His body is folded in on itself, heavy and exhausted, one arm bracing weakly against the ground while the other covers part of his face as if he still wants to hide. His scraped knuckles ache, his breathing shakes, and tears slip through anyway, falling quietly now that there is no strength left to wipe them away. The fight has drained out of him completely.
He looks beaten, not just physically, but emotionally. Tired in the deepest way. Sad, confused, and hollowed out. Like someone who kept pushing and pushing until his body finally made the decision for him and gave out.
The room around him is destroyed, but it barely matters anymore.
He is no longer lashing out at anything. No more throwing, no more hitting, no more pretending he can carry all of it alone. All that remains is a man crumpled on the floor, surrounded by the aftermath, with no one there to help him and no idea what he is supposed to do next.
He feels abandoned, overwhelmed, and painfully small inside the silence.
For the first time, it is obvious: he is not standing through it anymore.
He is collapsed in the middle of his own ruin, completely spent, with nothing left to fight, nothing left to say, and no strength left to get back up.
x3